


Sea Change (Turn the Tide)

by njw



Series: Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [15]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Background Case, Desert Island, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Humor, Jason Makes a Loin Cloth, JayTim Week 2020, JayTimWeek, Kon Made His Way in Here Somehow, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Stranded, Tim Likes It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24593356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: Tim sighs in sheer relief as he feels himself come to a rest on the sand, gentle waves still lapping lazily around him. The sun is peeking over the horizon, there’s a light, warm breeze, and it looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day. It feels really good to be still. Maybe he can just stay here like this for a while. His eyes begin to drift closed in sheer relief at being on solid land again.“Really, Replacement? You’re gonna lay around all day and keep letting me do all the work? I swam your lazy ass all the way here and now you’re just gonna sit on it?”His eyes snap open and he glances up to see Jason sneering down at him. Whoops.*For thetumblr Jaytim Weekday seven Pirate/Desert Island | Vikings AU prompt.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1356295
Comments: 189
Kudos: 536
Collections: JayTimWeek





	1. Chapter 1

Bruce’s stupidly opulent pontoon makes pretty good time, eating up the distance between Red Hood and the tracker he embedded in the hull of the pirates’ boat earlier. He has been tracking them for hours now and damn, he didn’t really expect their base to be this far out.

He didn’t plan to spend all night chasing them across the damn ocean, either, but hey, these things happen. At least Brucie’s yachts are plentiful and easy to boost. He took the pontoon because the fuel tank was full and he knows it’s the fastest—instead of the standard 30 miles per hour, Bruce tricked this baby out to go up to 200 miles per hour. It’s also turning out to be a damn comfortable ride.

Red Hood is tempted to bump something loud and offensive on the state-of-the-art stereo system, and maybe crack open one of the expensive craft beers he knows damn well are stocked in the minifridge. Hell, there might even be something in there he can throw on the grill, because of fucking course the boat has a goddamn grill. Fuck knows what else Bruce keeps this thing stocked with, just on the off chance he’ll need it.

The only thing stopping him from exploring the perks on offer is the fact that this is a serious mission. Well, that and he’s pretty sure it’s recommended to keep one hand on the wheel and the other on the throttle at all times while driving a boat.

“Why the fuck doesn’t this thing have an autopilot?” he grumbles, momentarily wishing his helmet had windshield wipers. The damn ocean spray keeps beading on the surface and making it hard to see.

Otherwise, conditions are decent. It’s a mostly clear night with only a light breeze, which is just beginning to pick up a little as dark clouds roll in from the east. He’s grateful the wind hasn’t been an issue up until now. Otherwise, he probably would’ve lost control of the damn boat hours ago trying to maintain this speed on choppy waves.

At least the heads up display shows he’s finally closing in on the target, which stopped moving a couple of minutes ago. It won’t be long now. He clenches his gauntleted hands on the wheel, running over what he knows about these guys.

Ghost ships have been floating into Gotham Harbor every few days over the past two months. The first couple of abandoned boats drifted ashore on Blackgate Isle. Because of that, Red Hood suspected some kind of prison break attempt. He wasted time investigating the prison and didn’t turn up anything useful. The ghost shipt case ended up getting pushed to the back burner while he focused on bringing in Mad Hatter after his latest stunt.

Then more abandoned ships started washing up in other parts of Gotham Harbor and along the Bob Kane Sound. That got his attention, all right.

Every damn one was empty of its crew and cargo. Some showed evidence of violence, such as bloodstains and damaged equipment. Others were pristine. Most of them were lucrative targets like cargo ships or luxurious private yachts, but some were just small fishing boats, crewed by a few sailors.

Whoever is doing this isn’t picky about their targets or the collateral damage they’re doing. They probably figure no one cares enough to do anything about it, not when the pirates can just retreat to international waters and hide behind the fucking mess of a legal tangle it would take to track them down and bring them in.

Red Hood bares his teeth in a threatening grin. Those kinds of considerations aren’t an obstacle to him. He’s ready and more than willing to head out and serve up some justice. Most of those fishermen had families to support, and none of the missing deserved to disappear on the ocean without a trace just to make some greedy assholes a few lousy dollars richer.

He’s going to destroy this operation, and do whatever he can to save any victims who may still be alive. If he ends up trashing one of Bruce’s expensive boats in the process, well, that’s just a bonus. “Come on, you bastards,” he whispers as the pontoon approaches the blinking red dot on his HUD.

As he draws within a thousand meters of the target, he reduces speed and then cuts the acceleration altogether. No reason to give them advance notice he’s coming if they aren’t already aware. The clouds are moving in fast, the rising wind making the surface of the water choppy and threatening. It’s going to be hell getting back, but hey, that’s future Jason’s problem. Maybe he’ll cut the trip short and just land in Florida. He can ditch Bruce’s boat there and laugh about it all the way back to Gotham. A road trip would be fun. He smirks at the thought, then dismisses it for now to focus on the job.

He can barely see shit in the darkness now that the clouds are blocking the moon. He squints for a moment before giving up and switching to thermal imaging.

Immediately, he frowns. There’s nothing out there—just the boat he was chasing, with what looks like six guys on it. There should be some kind of base, be it a larger ship or one of the numerous islands he has a hazy idea are scattered throughout this part of the ocean. Instead, the boat seems to have come to a halt in the middle of nowhere.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, a frisson of unease curling through him and causing him to tense.

Tonight seemed like such a lucky break—he’s been trying to tag one of the pirates’ boats for the past week, with no success up until now. Usually the pirates go after ships located just offshore, making it nearly impossible to catch them in the act or get close enough to plant a tracker before they take off again, with both the loot and the victims.

This time, he caught the pirates breaking into a docked yacht. The pirate crew had already boarded and some of them were carrying out what looked like a safe and other valuables, while others disappeared below deck. Instead of stopping the unfolding crime, he planted a tracker and then left them to it. While the pirates finished their plundering, he went to check out which of Bruce’s boats looked ripe for a joyride. The plan was to follow the pirates back to their base and case it out, then come back later with a full arsenal to raise hell and save anyone left to be saved.

None of that’s going to work if these jerkoffs don’t get a move on soon and lead him to their goddamn base.

As he waits, his pontoon slowly drifts closer to the target boat, momentum continuing to carry him forward even though he has killed the engine. He can hear voices now, muted but intelligible over the sound of the wind and waves.

Well, shit.

“Shouldn’t we take him back to the boss? She’s always looking for more grunts,” a reedy voice carries over the background noise.

A deeper voice answers. “Naw—that’s the fastest way to bring the rest of the capes down on ourselves. He’s probably covered in trackers and shit. It’s not worth the trouble. Let’s just toss the little bastard overboard.” 

“I think the first plan sounds better,” another voice chimes in, one he recognizes this time. “Let’s definitely go with that one.”

Jason just about swallows his tongue. Fuck. What the goddamn _hell_ is the replacement doing way the fuck out here? _Shoving his nose into_ my _case_ , a part of his mind whispers, making his hands clench as blood starts to pound in his ears. As always, just the thought of Drake’s prissy, self-righteous face sends a familiar rage-filled green haze creeping into the edges of his vision.

“Shut up!” a third voice growls, followed by a meaty thud and a soft groan. “You don’t get a vote!”

Fuck. Red Hood grimaces, fighting back a sense of fury at the unfairness of it. Whatever Drake did to end up in this shitty situation, Hood has a feeling _he’s_ the one who’s going to end up being blamed for it.

If the Bats find Red Robin floating face-down in the Caribbean Sea, it won’t take them long to figure out Red Hood stole one of Bruce’s pontoons on the same night and connect the homicidal dots. Innocent or not, the circumstances aren’t going to look great for him. That, and the whole multiple-attempted-murders thing kind of adds weight to any potential accusations.

He sighs. It looks like he’s going to have to intervene. Otherwise, he’ll have outraged, grieving bats crawling up his ass every time he turns around and he’ll either have to shoot them all down one by one or submit to being thrown in Arkham for killing the replacement. None of that sounds like his idea of a good time. 

A moment later, a loud splash and the sound of crude laughter tells him it’s time to get to work. He waits until the sound of the pirates’ engine fades into the distance before he turns the ignition and adjusts the trim, pushing forward gently on the throttle despite his natural urge to push it to the max. It would probably be a bad idea to run Red Robin over repeatedly with his pontoon while trying to save him.

He heads in the general direction of the splashing sound. “Replacement? Where the fuck are you? You didn’t drown already, did you?” Ah, hell. He didn’t consider the possibility that the pirates might have tied him to a cement block or something. Yeah, Nightwing’s gonna kill him for this. A rising sense of indignation fills him. “Fuck, that’s exactly the kind of thing I’d expect from you—it’s like the whole point of your existence is to give me shit.”

A moment later, a loud, indignant voice pipes up from almost directly under the boat. “Seriously? I get rescued, and it’s _you?”_

Stung, Red Hood narrows his eyes. “Okay, Mr. High-and-Mighty, I can just fuckin’ leave if _that’s_ going to be your attitude—”

There’s a scramble at the side of the pontoon, which dips slightly as Red Robin heaves himself over the edge. “No, I’ll take it.” He flops on his back on the expensively upholstered seats, panting. He looks like shit. “Uh, thanks. I guess. I managed to slip the cuffs they put on me, but it would’ve been annoying to have to hang out in the water while I called for a ride.” He frowns. “Wait, what are you doing here, anyway? Were you following me?”

Red Hood snorts. “Fuck you. I was following my own damn tracker. What the hell were you doing workin’ _my_ case? If you weren’t on their boat I’d think you were following me somehow—” He breaks off as something occurs to him that he probably would’ve noticed before if not for the distracting waves of anger that hit every time he thinks about the replacement. “Wait, were you hiding in their goddamn boat?”

The pontoon rocks with the increasing force of the waves hitting it as the wind rises, but Red Hood doesn’t give a flying fuck about that right now. He’s too busy grinning meanly at the thought of giving Drake shit for making a mistake and almost getting drowned by a bunch of lowlifes.

Red Robin scowls. “They weren’t supposed to check the underseat storage space. Based on my observations, the pirates generally store their haul lashed down on the deck and put smaller loose items in the indeck coolers. The underseat storage is just for extra life vests and stuff. It should have been fine!” He crosses his arms, looking hilariously pissed. “Now I’ll have to rely on the tracker, and there’s every chance they’ll short it out well before they get to their base, just like every other tracker I’ve managed to place on one of their boats over the past few weeks.”

Red Hood just stares at him for a full minute, at a loss for words. Finally, he slowly says, “Are you actually this stupid? Jesus fuck, replacement, I _know_ you got a goddamn big brain in that spaced-out head of yours. Fuckin’ use it! Wait—do you have backup? Is Big Bird gonna drop out of the sky any second now because he heard you squawking over the comms?” He glances up, half-afraid just mentioning the possibility will make it come true. The last thing he needs is some fucked up family reunion happening right now.

“No one knows where I am,” Red Robin mutters, crossing his arms and swaying with the increased motion of the boat. “Quit making a big deal out of this. I appreciate the assist, but I don’t need you butting in on the case.”

“Oh yeah? Well this is _my_ fucking case, and you better just—” A sudden brightening of the sky causes him to break off. They both turn to stare at the eastern sky, which is spectacularly forked with multiple bolts of lightning. A few seconds later, thunder rumbles so loudly it nearly deafens him. “Well, fuck.” As he watches, a huge swell forms, lifting the pontoon high in the air before lowering it back down in a sickening swooping motion.

“Agreed,” Red Robin says, looking tense as he grips the edges of his seat.

Red Hood shuts his mouth and sets to turning the pontoon. His anger evaporates as he tries to calculate how far they are from shore right now. Shit—Florida has got to be a hundred miles away. There are a shitload of islands that are closer, though. He just has to figure out how to aim for one—

In his hurry, he accelerates too fast, forgetting that rough water behaves really fucking different from calm.

“Hood, slow down—” Red Robin says, half-jerking to his feet and reaching as though he thinks he’s going to take the wheel. Bossy little shit.

It’s already too late, anyway. Another huge swell is already on them. Instead of riding the top of the wave, the speeding pontoon takes a nosedive right under the goddamn wave. “Fu—”

He can’t even get the word out before he’s in the water, his body yanked and pulled under by the powerful, swirling currents. The helmet senses he’s underwater and automatically closes the external vents, thank fuck for small mercies.

As he goes down, cold water soaking through everything but the helmet and immediately weighing him down like a rock, he fumbles to free himself from his heavy gun holsters and gauntlets. Regretfully, he sheds the sodden leather jacket, too. That body armor has saved his life more than once, but in this case, keeping it might just be the thing that kills him.

The airtight helmet is buying him some time, but he can’t stay under for long. It’s not like it supplies its own air. He kicks, hoping like hell his head is pointed at the surface.

He only knows when he breaks through because of the change in the light and reduction in pressure. Rain is pouring down, blurring his vision as he pivots in the water, searching desperately for the pontoon. After a moment, he remembers Red Robin. “Red!” he calls, his heart absolutely not clenching in worry when he doesn’t see anything. “Fuck. _Drake!”_

If he gets his replacement killed like this on his watch, by _accident,_ forget about the Bats being up his ass. Alfred will never forgive him.

“Shit.” He’s still too weighted down—he keeps sinking and having to kick his way back up. He fights to tread water while grabbing his knife and cutting the laces on his boots so he can kick them off. That’s weight he doesn’t need. After a moment’s thought, he puts the knife away and then sheds his shirt so he can strip out of that body armor, too, followed by his pants.

The feeling of relief when he frees his legs from the heavy armor is incredible. Of course, he loses his pants and shirt entirely in the process, the currents carrying them away before he can try to struggle back into them now that the heavy body armor he wears beneath them is gone. Whatever, fuck it. At least he managed to keep hold of the knife holster. He straps it back on over his jock and tucks the knife away, taking care not to accidentally slice off his own business. Whatever happens, he’ll need at least one weapon.

Unencumbered, he resumes his search for the replacement. “Drake! C’mon, you little shit, answer me!” He’s able to stay at the surface easily now, swimming back and forth in what he hopes is a reasonable approximation of a gridded search pattern. Fuck it, he’s probably just swimming in goddamn circles at this point. He can’t see shit through the storm.

Just as he’s really starting to feel something which he absolutely refuses to acknowledge is concern, his hand brushes against something in the water. “Drake?” He manages to close his fingertips around what turns out to be Red Robin’s boot. Tugging him closer, he checks him out and quickly realizes the guy’s unconscious, but breathing. “What the fuck—?”

Red Hood pokes at the Red Robin suit, which appears to have ballooned out around its occupant somehow. It makes him look like a red and black person-shaped marshmallow. Even though he’s unconscious—possibly knocked out when the wave hit or dashed against part of the boat—his suit seems to have automatically deployed some kind of full-body life vest feature. “Huh.”

Red Hood eyes the suit experimentally. It looks like it’s designed to keep Red Robin floating face up, and it’s buoyant as hell. Hood’s legs are getting kind of tired of kicking. Maybe…

He puts some of his weight on Red Robin, then grins when the other vigilante barely sinks an inch into the water. “Sweet.” It only takes a minute to dig out some of Red’s emergency rope from one of the seemingly infinite pouches and compartments on his stupid-looking bandoliers. Not long after that, Red Hood is securely tied to Red Robin, his head and arms resting comfortably on the replacement’s chest while his legs dangle in the water. Now he can wait out the storm in style with his very own person-shaped lifeboat.

It’s not his best plan ever, but it’ll do. He sighs, eyeing Red Robin’s bandoliers again and wondering if he has a spare pair of pants or a shirt in there. Shaking his head, he dismisses the thought. He would burst out of anything made to fit Red Robin. Besides that, he’d rather not owe him.

Grimacing, he glances back to Red Robin’s face. His startled, very awake face. “Yo.”

“What the—? Did you _tie yourself_ to me?” Red Robin wiggles, but it seems he can’t move very much with the way his suit’s blown up and expanded around him. He looks fucking ridiculous and it’s possibly the best thing Red Hood has seen all night.

The waves continue to buffet them both and the rain is still pouring down, but it’s actually not that bad now that he’s securely above water. The water is cool, but not freezing. All in all, they’re pretty well off for being stranded in the ocean at night in the middle of a tropical storm.

That means it’s fine to give Red Robin shit. Red Hood shrugs. “Any port in a storm.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, wondering if prissy Tim Drake knows the bawdy origins of that phrase. Does he even read anything that’s not case files?

Based on his embarrassed expression, he does. “You suck.”

“Like a vacuum.” He waggles his eyebrows harder even though he knows the helmet is hiding them from view. Sometimes he resents the damn helmet for lessening the impact of his quips. Well, at least Drake doesn’t seem to need to see his face to get the implications, based on the way his mouth drops open in surprise, then snaps shut. Apparently, he’s got an impressively dirty mind for an uptight virgin, if he’s read Fanny Hill.

Red Robin shakes his head. “Wait, what?” He frowns. “Don’t answer that, I don’t need to know. Hold on, where’s your shirt? Why are you shirtless and still wearing the helmet—don’t you know how porny that looks?”

Snorting, Red Hood starts to laugh entirely against his will. He doesn’t want to enjoy bantering with fucking _Drake_ of all people, but this is too ridiculous not to take a moment and enjoy it. “What you _should_ be asking is where are my pants.”

“Wait, _what?”_ Red Robin starts wiggling harder, his marshmallow suit preventing his pathetic attempts at movement from succeeding in anything but looking hilarious.

Red Hood snickers. “I’ll let you guess whether or not I’m still wearing my jock.” He leers, once again resenting the helmet for blocking the full effect.

“Oh my god,” Red Robin whispers, looking faint. “Why is this happening? Can the pirates come back? I want to trade—bring back the pirates.”

“No can do, replacement,” Red Hood says with a mean grin. “You’re stuck with me for the time being. Look on the bright side. I managed to trash Bruce’s stupid expensive boat!”

Red Robin eyes him in undisguised horror. “I don’t think that’s a bright side. A boat would be really useful right now.”

Shrugging, Red Hood starts digging through more of Red Robin’s bandolier compartments. “Whatever. Got anything useful in here? Like maybe something that’ll call a Batplane?”

“I should—that’s what I was about to do when you picked me up, actually.”

Of fucking course, Red Robin’s comms and all the electronics in his suit are dead, shorted out by the prolonged exposure to salt water. Damn it. Stupid shitty replacement and his stupid shitty equipment. On the bright side, the storm is dying down, the water going calm as the clouds blow off as quickly as they built. Also, Red Hood finds snacks in one of the bandolier compartments. Score.

He punches in the code and then lifts his helmet off with a relieved sigh, dumping it unceremoniously on Red Robin’s puffy, air-filled chest so he can eat.

“Hey, those are mine! At least give me some, too!” Red Robin demands, looking pissed as he watches him chow down on one of the protein bars he found.

Jason briefly considers eating all of them just to spite him, then reluctantly decides that would be too much of a dick move. After all, fuck knows how long it’ll take for them to be rescued. It would probably be best to at least try to be civil for the time being.

“Fuckin’ _fine,”_ Jason grumbles, opening another bar and holding it out for Red Robin to take a bite. The temptation to just shove it down his throat is strong, but he manages to resist. He hates the replacement, but not quite enough to jeopardize both of their survival while lost at sea. It’s damn close, though. 

Also, Red Robin gave him snacks, albeit involuntarily. Grudgingly, he sets that fact in the plus column. It’s still hopelessly outweighed by the negative column, populated as it is by every betrayal, every stolen piece of his identity the replacement took and then had the audacity to do it better. Fuck that shit. He shoves the scoreboard to the back of his mind, knowing that dwelling on it will just result in a spontaneous drowning and then a really creepy few hours tied to a floating cor—yeah, best not think about that. 

He chomps another bite before complaining about something only slightly less infuriating. “I think I’m going pruney.”

Red Robin frowns, trying to twist his head and then giving up as he apparently realizes that his marshmallow suit is not going to allow him to move. “The sky is clearing up now and the sun’s starting to rise. Visibility is way better. Can you see anything?”

Jason throws his head back and glances around, not really looking as he starts on a bitchy reply. “Sure, replacement—water, more water, and whoa, look at that, it’s _more_ water, and—” He breaks off, turning back to look again. “Oh hey, and there’s some land over there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, taking a joyride on one of Bruce’s boats:** “Fuck yeah!” *Speeds after a boatful of pirates, resents the fact that the boat he stole from Bruce lacks cannons* “Goddamnit B” *Catches up to pirates* “Sweet, now for the mayhem—”  
>  **Tim, walking the plank at swordpoint:** “Yo” *Falls in the water, sinks like a stone before bobbing up wearing a full-body life vest*  
>  **Jason, just staring at him in stunned silence:** “…” *Fails to notice storm coming up until it capsizes his boat and dumps him in the water too* “Shit!” *Doggy paddles over to Tim, climbs on top of him* “Hey, you’re like a damn lifeboat. This is great!” *Shifts until he’s lying full length on top of Tim* “I’m gonna take a nap”  
>  **Tim, sputtering angrily:** “Can’t you lie the other way? Why are your boots on my FACE?”  
>  **Jason, snickering:** “Because I hate you” *Shifts again, getting comfy, then drifts off to sleep to the dulcet tones of Tim muttering dark threats*


	2. Chapter 2

Tim sighs in sheer relief as he feels himself come to a rest on the sand, gentle waves still lapping lazily around him. The sun is peeking over the horizon, there’s a light, warm breeze, and it looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day. It feels really good to be still. Maybe he can just stay here like this for a while. His eyes begin to drift closed in sheer relief at being on solid land again.

“Really, replacement? Just gonna lay around all day and keep letting me do all the work? I swam your lazy ass all the way here and now you’re just gonna sit on it?”

His eyes snap open and he glances up. Jason is sneering down at him. Whoops.

Tim opens his mouth to reply, then gets distracted staring. The view is _amazing._ His mouth falls open as he stares up long, muscular legs, past thick, drool-worthy thighs. His gaze catches on the well-filled black jockstrap before continuing up over sculpted abs, meaty pecs, and broad, strong shoulders and arms. He’s gorgeous, the sun glinting off his smooth, wet skin as though for the express purpose of drawing attention to how beautifully formed he is.

The only thing that ruins it is the cruel, dismissive expression on Jason’s admittedly very handsome face.

Tim looks away. “Nope. Just taking a breather.” He triggers the internal release mechanism for his immersion suit and then groans with relief as it deflates. It may have saved his life, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable or dignified to be reduced to the status of a pool float for however long it took them to make their way to shore.

He takes a deep breath as he sits up and stretches, relishing the freedom of movement. Then he pauses, grimacing. There’s sand inside the suit. It’s everywhere. “Ugh, sand is the worst,” he grumbles.

“Tell me about it.” Jason snorts and unselfconsciously adjusts his jock, grimacing.

Tim swallows, dragging his gaze away. Right, so one of the first items on his mental checklist is figuring out how to deal with all this wet, nearly naked Jason. It would definitely not go over well if the other man caught him looking. It’s been at least six months since the last time Red Hood came after him with the intent to cause severe bodily harm—granted, that’s probably because he has made a concerted effort to avoid crossing paths with his murderous predecessor for about that long. Either way, he’d hate to break the streak.

He frowns as another aspect of Jason’s nearly nude state occurs to him. They’re already marooned on an unknown body of land. The last thing they need is a full-body sunburn on top of that. “Here,” he says, detaching his cape and extending it in one hand. “This is part of my immersion suit, so it’s neoprene and won’t be particularly comfortable, but at least it’ll block the sun.”

Jason flicks his gaze down and then shakes his head, looking scornful. “I don’t need _your_ help, pretender.”

Ouch. Stung, he retorts, “Really? Fine. Enjoy your inevitable sunburn and bug bites in hard-to-reach places.” As soon as the words are out, he wants to take them back. Antagonizing the man he’s trapped on an island with is not a smart plan. He braces himself, just in case. He’s pretty sure he could outrun Jason right now if need be, considering he still has his boots and the other man is barefoot.

Snickering, Jason just shakes his head and then struts away, heading east down the sparkling white sand beach. “Fuck you too, replacement. I’m going to find some water and a cave or something, without you in it. You do you, I guess—just stay the fuck outta my way.”

Well, okay then.

Tim rises shakily to his feet, his spurned cape still clutched loosely in one hand. As he stands, he takes stock of himself. He’s stiff and sore, but in relatively good condition otherwise. From what he saw—and that was a _lot,_ hot damn—Jason appears uninjured as well.

It’s probably a bad idea to split up, but following Jason and accidentally antagonizing him into actual violence would be even worse. He bites his lip, considering his options, and then shrugs and turns west. If this is a small island, they’re bound to meet up again eventually.

If it isn’t, well, at least that makes it more likely that there will be water and people somewhere around here. He’ll have to be careful of anyone he encounters, though. It’s entirely possible any people they do find here might be associated in some way with the pirates.

Before he does anything, he needs to ditch the outer suit. The auto-inflating immersion layer absolutely fulfilled its purpose, but right now it’s just weighing him down and limiting his movements. He heads up the slope of the beach toward the line of vegetation above the hide tide mark, noting scattered grass, scrub brush, and a couple of palm trees farther inland. There are also a few stony outcrops, which on closer inspection turn out to be weathered limestone. Well, that will do for now.

Tim works himself out of the tight neoprene outer suit with some difficulty, breathing deeply in relief when he’s finally free of its confines. He wedges the suit and cape into a crevice in the rocks, then considers his inner layers. After a moment’s thought, he discards the body armor as well. Blushing furiously, he glances up and down the beach before kicking off his boots and shoving down his black leggings so he can remove his jockstrap.

He frees himself with a soft groan. “Oh god—those things are _not_ meant to be worn for this long.” Momentarily, his thoughts turn to Jason. He experiences a quick stab of empathy for the poor guy, stuck with nothing to wear but a tight jockstrap. Snorting, he shakes it off. “He could’ve taken my cape, but he had to be a dick about it. He brought this on himself.”

Jason has never wanted anything from him—at least, nothing he was willing to give. There’s no reason for that to change now, but he’s still annoyingly disappointed by the rejection. He can’t help wishing there were some non-violent way to fix everything that’s gone wrong between them, or at least convince Jason to let him help once in a while.

Tugging his leggings back on, he takes quick stock of himself. He has long leggings and a long-sleeved shirt, both constructed of moisture-wicking and highly durable material; heavy duty boots; and his bandoliers, which are filled with potentially useful tools and gadgets.

Of course, he’s also soaking wet down to his socks, half of his gadgets won’t work because the tech has been damaged by immersion in salt water, and he’s unwillingly free-balling it. Also, there’s still sand in places which very much do not appreciate the prospect of prolonged chafing.

Whatever. At least he’s not strutting around in a wet jockstrap with a lurid red helmet as his only other protection from the elements. His lips curl in a wicked little grin.

Between his own head to toe all black ensemble and Jason’s outrageous attire, they must look ridiculous. Any rescue party who stumbles on them is probably going to get entirely the wrong idea about what they’ve been up to out here.

Oh well. That’s assuming rescue is imminent, which isn’t very likely. Tims sighs, then finishes hiding his spare gear with a few well placed cobbles. After a moment’s thought, he marks the spot with a small cairn of stacked stones so he’ll be able to recognize it easily when he returns.

Far more comfortable now that he’s no longer lugging around all that heavy, wet gear, he begins making his way west again. Before long, the soft white sand gives way to weathered limestone bedrock, which rises sharply to form steep cliffs at the western end of what he can now see is a rather small island. He hikes to the top and peers down, swallowing at the sight of white-topped waves crashing against the base of the sheer cliff face. Sea birds cry and swoop low over the water, diving down to skim the surface before rising to circle in the air again and return to what Tim suspects are likely nests built into cavities in the cliff face.

“I am so glad we didn’t wash up on this end of the island,” he mutters, drawing back from the edge and continuing on his way. He snorts. Jason probably would’ve raided his gear to scale the cliffs and left him bobbing in the water. He might’ve even kicked down a few extra rocks on him on purpose out of spite.

As he continues trudging along the limestone cliffs, intent on checking the entire perimeter of the island, he sends a cursory glance toward the interior. The entire island appears to slope gently down from the limestone outcrops he is currently traversing. White sand beaches are visible on the southern and northern sides of the island. He can’t quite see the eastern end—it’s blocked by the curve of the land and thick vegetation—but it seems likely that it’s just more white sand, as well. The vegetation appears similar throughout, mostly grassland and scrub brush with a few scattered stands of palm trees.

He can’t see any streams or ponds. Well, crap.

Okay. They’ll just have to figure something out in order to get fresh water. Maybe there’s a stream at the opposite end of the island and he just can’t see it from here. Or he could always construct a solar still out of material from his suit, although that wouldn’t be ideal. Tim turns to move on, only pausing when he spots what looks like a section of deeper greenery at the base of the outcrop he’s walking along, down where the limestone bedrock plunges beneath the softer sediments of the island interior.

He scrambles down to take a look. On this side, the limestone outcrop is more irregular, with plenty of irregularities to form hand- and footholds. He runs through his knowledge of the properties of limestone. Depending on degree of compaction, cementation, and subsequent fracturing and dissolution, carbonate rocks like limestone can be highly permeable water-bearing units. Heck, the Bat Cave is made of limestone, and it’s riddled with subterranean rivers, caverns, and sinkholes.

Maybe there’s a spring here? Glancing around the base of the rock, he sees lush grass and even some delicate-looking wildflowers tucked up against the limestone outcrop, which is heavily eroded. There’s no obvious surface water, just some dubious-looking seeps in a shallow hollow not quite large enough to be called a cave, eaten into the base of the large limestone outcrop by years of erosion.

As Tim studies the seeps, he’s disappointed at the realization that the water which falls at this end of the island is most likely absorbed into cracks and fissures in the porous limestone. It works its way down and out in tiny seeps like these, eroding away the stone to form bowl-like hollows. A stream or a spring would be so much more useful.

It is possible that the hollows fill up when it rains, or could be filled and used to store water if he and Jason figure out a way to find or capture fresh water. He makes a mental note of the location before moving on. It isn’t ideal, but it’s high ground with options for both shelter and water storage.

If he can’t find anything better, he’s willing to go with a fixer-upper.

He doesn’t find anything better. By the time he spots Jason, trudging toward him in what looks like a bright green loincloth of all things, the only other items of note he has found are some palm trees with coconuts and a section of seashore with washed-up seaweed and numerous tidal pools filled with mussels. Foraging, at least, doesn’t look like it will be a problem.

“What are you wearing?” he blurts out as soon as they’re near enough to hear each other. This close, it looks almost like Jason made himself a loincloth out of plants. Tim eyes it in unwilling sympathy. There’s no way that isn’t chafing. Plants are poky. He doesn’t trust them.

“Shut up—at least I’m not a boy scout like you, still wearing the damn jock.” Jason’s gaze flicks derisively down to Tim’s crotch. Jerk. Well, he’s wrong about that.

Tim snorts, biting back a grin and raising an eyebrow. “I’m not as much of a boy scout as you seem to think.”

Jason’s gaze snaps to his crotch again and he whistles. “Damn, replacement, letting it all hang out? I’m surprised at you. What would Daddy Bats say?”

“Uh, hopefully nothing? Or maybe just something grumbly about us not having rescued ourselves yet by making a radio and a boat out of coconuts and some rocks. Anyway, at least I’m not _literally_ letting it all hang out.” Tim glances at Jason’s handiwork again and raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Did you weave that thing out of grass and palm fronds?”

“Yep,” Jason says, then smirks. “What, you wanna get a closer look?” He rolls his hips with a leer.

Tim rolls his eyes, keeping them fixed on Jason’s face by sheer willpower. Why the heck Jason seems to think he’s some kind of repressed virgin, he has no idea. He’s not sure if telling him the truth would get him to lay off or just inspire him to be even more outrageous. Yeah, probably the second option. He’s not going to risk it. “Nope, I’m good. Find anything useful?”

“Sand, more sand, and just so fucking much sand,” Jason says, his shoulders slumping. “Uh, I guess there were a few trees with coconuts. Also, I saw a lot of fish in the water, so there’s that. No signs of people. There’s enough driftwood to construct a decent shelter, but no fresh water, at least not on this end.” He eyes Tim, looking grudgingly hopeful. “You better have something good to tell me, replacement.”

“Damn.” Tim frowns as he scans the sky, noting the gathering clouds far on the eastern horizon with mixed hope and annoyance. He doesn’t feel like being soaking wet again so soon, but at least if it rains their water problems will be temporarily solved. “Okay. I didn’t do much better—there are cliffs at the western end of the island, but the closest thing to fresh water or any kind of shelter is a hollow in the rock with some seeps. They’re mostly dry right now, but it might be better right after a rain.”

Jason stares at him with a measuring gaze, then shrugs. “Fine, whatever. Come on, I’ll show you where I saw the driftwood. Just don’t go thinking that working together out here makes us _friends.”_ Sneering, he flicks his gaze over Tim and then shakes his head dismissively. “I’m only working with you now because it’s the best move in this situation. It isn’t because I _like_ you or want to spend another second in your presence beyond what I have to.” He bares his teeth before walking away, pulling ahead quickly with his longer stride. 

Tim just follows. It’s been a long time since any of Jason’s barbed words sank deep and truly hurt. After all, Tim has had years to build up a thick layer of scar tissue over the sore spots Jason always targets with such unerring aim.

After a moment of staring at Jason’s stupidly long legs, he calls out, “Hey, you didn’t happen to keep track of how many steps you took walking around your half of the island, did you?”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Jason growls. After a minute of walking in silence, he grumbles, “Five thousand seven hundred and two.”

Tim does a quick mental calculation, taking Jason’s stride length into account and then adding in an estimate of his own distance covered. “So the island perimeter is roughly three miles.” That’s actually a fairly decent size. It could be much worse, anyway. They could’ve washed up on a tiny atoll with just a thin strip of exposed surface area that would be inundated by the tide twice a day, entirely surrounded by sharp coral.

Jason turns to stare at him, looking disgruntled. “Did you just guesstimate my stride length by watching me walk?”

It was either do that or just stare continuously at Jason’s ass while he strutted down the beach ahead of him. It’s an oddly mesmerizing sight. Tim swallows. “Yep.” After a moment, he clears his throat. “Although I already had a pretty good idea of your stride length.”

Jason gives him a weird look. “What the fuck, replacement? Why are you such a goddamn stalker?” 

“What? It comes in handy sometimes.”

“Seriously? Like when?”

Tim raises an eyebrow and gestures sweepingly as though to indicate their entire situation, opening his mouth to say something snarky that he’s probably going to regret.

Jason flushes and scowls. “Don’t answer that! Damn it.”

“Besides calculating areas of desert islands, it’s also useful for judging where to run while playing rooftop tag. I know Steph and Cass can follow my tracks perfectly because we have roughly the same stride length. If we time things just right, we can get Dick to stumble when he’s chasing us because his stride is three inches longer than ours.”

“Really? What about mine?”

“You don’t play rooftop tag with us.” Tim clears his throat, unable to prevent himself from thinking that if Jason did, it absolutely wouldn’t be for fun and would probably end with something a lot more serious than a noogie for the loser. “But if you did, your stride is an inch longer than Dick’s. I could probably do something to throw you off stride, too.”

“Weirdo,” Jason says, shaking his head, but he seems to be biting back a laugh. He stares at Tim, looking confused for a moment before the smile drops off his face. “Whatever. Let’s build a damn shelter. I don’t like the look of those clouds.” He takes off again, glancing back over his shoulder a couple of times and giving Tim weird looks.

Tim does his best to keep his eyes away from all that smooth, rolling muscle, but it’s hard. Literally. Clearing his throat, he adjusts his pants. He’s grateful for the distraction when they arrive at a stretch of beach which is strewn with shells and pieces of wood ranging from twigs to sizable logs, all worn smooth by the sea.

They each gather a double armload of driftwood, mostly light logs that probably used to belong to particularly tall scrub bushes and trees on this and neighboring islands. Tim is staring at his huge pile, wondering how best to carry it on the long, mostly uphill trek back to the almost-cave, when he feels a light tug at his bandoliers. “Huh?” He turns to see Jason, who is squatting on the sand and tying both of their piles into neat bundles using lengths of Tim’s ninja wire. “Oh hey, that works. Good idea.”

Jason looks up at him with an easy shrug. “You got some handy shit in all those little compartments, replacement. I just wish more of it was waterproof.” He snorts.

Tim winces. “Yeah, I really wasn’t expecting to actually take a dip. I brought the immersion suit as a last resort. I honestly wasn’t expecting these guys to be smart or well organized enough to catch me.”

“Still seems too damn risky. Hell, the way you mouthed off on that ship, it sounded like you actually wanted them to throw you overboard.”

“I did. I mean, at that point, it was my best option.” Tim shrugs at Jason’s frown. “From some of the evidence I’ve gathered, it looks like a lot of the people who’ve disappeared end up being recruited to work for the pirates after their capture—although whether it’s willing or not is still up for debate. Based on witness accounts, fishermen and sailors from at least two container shipments that were intercepted have been spotted on some of the pirate’s boats.”

“I haven’t heard about any witnesses,” Jason says, hefting his bundle with a deeper frown.

Tim lifts his own pile of wood and begins to walk, taking the lead following their footprints back up the beach with the eventual goal of returning to the potential shelter he identified. He sticks to the beach, figuring the direct route through the island interior would probably be too rough for Jason’s bare feet. “There are a few. None of them saw much or got very close to the pirate ships, but I’m not willing to rule out potential mind control. Especially considering the fact that all the pirates on the boat I stowed away on were wearing hats.” 

Jason’s brows rise and he lets out a low whistle. “Fuck, the Mad Hatter. I guess I didn’t get close enough to see and realize all of ‘em had hats on—damn. I knew I shoulda finished checking up on where all his shit ended up after I brought down his latest crazy scheme, but this case kinda took precedence over that shit once I had him put away. Well, I guess I can see why you bugged out then. Mind control sucks ass. What the hell was your big plan, anyway?”

Tim blinks, absorbing the information that apparently some of the Mad Hatter’s mind-controlling tech has been missing and ended up in the wrong hands. That would’ve been good to know earlier.

Squirming, he shrugs. “Uh, this was kind of spontaneous? I spotted the robbery in progress and had just enough time to grab the immersion suit from one of my safe houses and get in position before the pirates returned to their vessel. I actually intended to let my team know, just in case I needed an emergency pickup.”

“Why didn’t you? I’m sure the Bats would’ve thrown a shitfit the second your signal went silent. Hell, the Batplane probably would’ve plucked you right outta the goddamn ocean before your suit even had time to inflate,” Jason scoffs.

Tim blinks. “Oh, I… didn’t mean that team.” It’s been a while since he’s really felt like he was fully one of the Bats, occasional team ups and rooftop tag aside. It’s just easier to work with people who all actually care about him, rather than the weird in-between thing he has going with the Bats in which both his predecessor and successor would just as soon cut his line as reach out to save him if he fell. “I meant the Titans.”

He makes a face. “It wasn’t until I was actually in the storage space and texted Kon that I got his auto-reply and realized they, uh, aren’t on the planet right now.” His voice trails off to a mumble. “Anyway, they should be back within a few days. As soon as they do, they’ll get my message and come and find us.”

Jason looks almost outraged for some reason. “What the fuck? So, you locked yourself in a goddamn enclosed space on a criminal’s boat with no idea where the hell they were going or what freaky mind control bullshit they were capable of, all before even checking your backup was in the goddamn solar system?”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds bad,” Tim grumbles, his cheeks heating. Admittedly, it’s not his best performance. He usually plans significantly better than this, but the pirates seemed so unprofessional.

They reach the spot where they met up earlier and he keeps going, following his own lonely tracks along the beach back toward the cliffs. “The storage space wasn’t airtight. I checked before I got in. And anyway, I do a lot of stuff without backup. I happen to know you operate the same way. Why do you even care what I do?”

“I fuckin’ care when it throws off _my_ damn mission because I gotta rescue _your_ dumb ass from danger,” Jason growls. “If you disappeared under mysterious circumstances, I know damn well who the others would blame.”

Ah. Fair. “They might blame Ra’s?” Tim tries. “What with the constant kidnapping attempts and all.”

“Kidnapping attempts—?” Jason’s brow furrows for a moment before he shakes it off. “Naw, they’d totally think it was me. I mean, I did steal one of Brucie’s boats and use it to chase you down. If B’s got a tracker in you, he’d for sure think I had an episode and murdered your skinny ass. You gotta admit, it would look sketchy as hell.” He frowns. “Wait, does B have a tracker in you?” He looks hilariously hopeful. “Because that would actually be pretty damn convenient right now.”

Tim laughs, shaking his head. “Sorry to disappoint. I’ve managed to dodge that one so far. I swept my gear recently, too, and removed the trackers I found in my shoes, bo-staff, and backup grapnel.” They begin to climb the gradual slope, heading toward the limestone outcrop which marks the high point of the island and also his chosen shelter location.

“Damn, B really wants to keep you safe.” Jason sounds half-resentful, half-jealous.

Snorting, Tim makes a face. “Yeah, right. Only one was Bruce. One was Oracle, and the others were Ra’s.”

Jason looks concerned for a moment before he seems to remember that he doesn’t give a shit who’s after Tim. “That’s fucked up.”

“Yep.”

“So, you got any idea where we are right now? My HUD was just set to show the tracker and my position, plus any boats we passed so I wouldn’t ram into someone in the dark. Did you have one of your fancy gadgets tracking things right up until the point they found you?”

Tim winces. “Uh, kind of? I mean, I did have a program tracking our route and sending the data to one of my servers, but I wasn’t following it in real time right when they found me. I don’t have a good mental map of where we are.” He shrugs.

“Well, shit. It woulda been nice to have a rough idea where we are, if this island is part of a chain or whatever. For all we know, we could build a boat or fucking swim a few miles and be on an island with an airport, or at least a phone.” Jason blows out a frustrated breath, eyeing him resentfully. “Didn’t you study your geography, replacement? They say you’re the smart one—this feels like something you should just know.”

Tim shrugs again, feeling useless. He probably should have been following along on his wrist computer, but the position he’d been contorted into to fit inside the storage space meant accessing the computer was a painful ordeal. He’d chosen to listen to the pirates instead, hoping to catch some clues as to their plans and their mysterious leader.

That hadn’t worked out too well in the end. He sighs. “I know the basics, but there are literally thousands of islands in the Carribean Sea. We could be on any one of hundreds of uninhabited islands that fit the approximate size and shape of this one.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Right? Why couldn’t this have happened farther north? Not only are there fewer islands, which would narrow things down, I’d also have a fighting chance of figuring out which island this is just by the shape. All those Viking exploration and trade routes I memorized from staring at the maps in Dad’s study could have finally come in handy.” Tim snickers.

“Wait, what? Were you really into that shit back then? Damn rich kids and their weird-ass hobbies—”

“What? No, not really? Just, I hoped if I learned about the things they cared about, maybe he or Mom would be interested in talking to me sometimes when they were home. It was also something to do while they were travelling and I was by myself for months on end. Of course, later I had photography to keep me busy, plus Batman to follow around, so I mostly laid off studying Dad’s old things after I was about nine or so.”

Tim bites his lip, trudging up to the rock hollow. He probably shouldn’t have said any of that. Knowing Jason’s ability to hone in on weak points, it’s likely he’s just given him another target.

Jason follows, frowning. “Your parents fucking left you alone for goddamn _months_ when you were _nine—”_ He breaks off, shaking his head. His voice isn’t very convincing when he says, “Never mind, I don’t give a shit about your poor little rich boy problems. Is this it?” He dumps his load of driftwood on the ground and takes in the hollow in the stone face, his gaze traveling over the seeps and rounded divots in the shelf-like protrusions. “Okay, yeah. This will work.”

Without further ado, he begins to assemble a basic framework for a shelter, setting the longest pole on end and then leaning it against the rock face at an angle. He wedges one end into a deep crevice in the limestone wall and sinks the lower end a few inches into the soil, wedging it in place. “What the fuck are you staring at, pretender? Just gonna watch me do all the work again? Fuck, you’d be really shitty in bed, wouldn’t you? Maybe it’s a good thing no one’s fucked that stick outta your ass yet.”

Tim blinks rapidly, turning away and blushing at his suggestive words. Against his will, his mind provides dozens of highly enjoyable, extremely explicit memories that prove Jason most emphatically wrong. He makes the mistake of looking at Jason again while those images are still playing through his mind, and _oh._

It’s way too easy to get drawn into just watching Jason work, his thick, strong muscles moving and flexing beneath all that glorious skin. The tan he’s developing all over his glorious body just highlights the scars, making Tim want to trace them with his fingers. Or his tongue. God, he’s got it so bad.

He clears his throat. “Want to cover the roof with palm fronds?”

“Yeah, that was the plan.” Idiot, Jason’s tone implies.

Tim takes it as progress. At least Jason isn’t actively insulting him every two minutes. Maybe this can actually work. “Okay. I’ll go grab a couple of bundles of those, if you’ve got this.”

“Fine.” Jason turns his back and sets to building the framework of a basic lean-to, setting progressively shorter poles at an angle leaning against the main support. “Hold up—before you go, toss me some more of that ninja wire?”

Tim digs it out and lobs it at Jason, who snags it neatly out of the air. “Thanks, replacement.” He says it absently, without a hint of sarcasm or mockery.

As he walks away, Tim wonders wistfully what it might be like for Jason to call him by his actual name. He huffs a mirthless laugh. That isn’t going to happen anytime soon. It’s more than enough that they’re actually managing to work together without any punches being thrown. They’re never going to be friends. He should know better by now than to waste his time wishing for things he knows he can’t have.

By the time he makes it back to the shelter, he’s loaded down carrying large bundles of palm fronds and has a small bunch of coconuts hanging from his bandoliers. The coconut shells are brown, so he’s pretty sure they’re ripe. He sets his burden down with a sigh beside the completed lean-to framework and then glances around, searching for Jason.

After a moment, he spots him at the top of the outcrop, clearly peering down the sheer cliff at the ocean below. As he watches, Jason turns and sees him. “Yo, little red! Thank _fuck_ we didn’t wash up on this side.” He gestures over his shoulder with a thumb, looking appalled at the thought. He begins to make his way down, moving quickly and numbly despite the treacherous footing.

“Agreed.” Tim tugs a palm frond out of one of the bundles and turns to begin attempting to weave it through the supports of the shelter.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Jason says with a snort, his voice making Tim jump as he startles at the unexpected proximity. “Here, let me.” He moves up right behind him, placing his big, warm hands over Tim’s and nudging them to push the palm frond up all the way to the top, flush against the main support strut. “It’ll work better if we have them in as tight as possible, with overlap. That way they’ll have a chance at actually keeping out the damn rain.”

Tim doesn’t answer, biting his lip so he doesn’t make an embarrassing noise. He’s hyper aware of the warm, bare skin of Jason’s chest and arms and all of the points where they’re touching. His heart is pounding. This is the first time Jason has ever touched him, skin to skin, without it being intended to hurt.

Jason doesn’t even seem to notice. After a moment, he moves away to grab another palm frond and Tim quickly steps to the side, figuring it’s better not to tempt fate. “Ah, how about you do the weaving, then, and I’ll open up a couple of these coconuts? Can I borrow your kris?” No way is he reaching over and trying to pull it out of its holster, which rests casually against Jason’s woven loin cloth. He’d absolutely end up with a stab wound for his troubles. Heck, he might get stabbed anyway just for asking to borrow Jason’s favorite knife.

“Sure.” Jason pauses with a frown before he tugs it free and hands it to him. “Go nuts. Try not to cut off your own fingers.”

Tim snorts and pulls out a multitool to drill through the eyes first so he can access the juice. Once he drills through the first coconut, he hands it silently to Jason, who wraps his lips around the end and tilts his head back to drink, his throat working gracefully with each long pull.

It’s impossible to tear his eyes away. After Jason finishes drinking with a long sigh and then gets back to work, Tim finally manages to drill his own coconut open. He moans softly at the refreshing wetness against his parched lips and throat. As he drinks, he feels eyes on him and wonders if Jason is still thirsty.

He’d better give the next one to Jason. All that hard work while completely exposed to the sun except for a skimpy loincloth must be very dehydrating. Tim lifts another coconut and drills it open, handing it over to Jason and watching appreciatively as he empties it, the sweat beading on his skin and tracing a path Tim would love to follow with his tongue.

Clearing his throat, he turns back to the coconuts before Jason catches him staring. Their shelter is taking shape, and it would be nice to have some coconut meat to enjoy once it’s done. He lifts Jason’s kris and sets to work hacking the damn coconuts open, resisting the urge to think about coffee or look at the gorgeous, scantily clad man currently swearing over their half-built lean-to.

Stupid hot Jason and his stupid attractive face. Well, he’s bound to say something cutting to Tim again at any moment now. That’ll remind him of his place and their relationship—or rather, lack thereof.

Tim sighs, his fingers going still on the knife as the coconut finally splits open, the white interior glistening in the sun. The breeze whispers through the grass surrounding him and stirs the palm fronds Jason is weaving into the slowly-forming roof. It’s a gorgeous day in a tropical paradise and he’s here with one of the most attractive men he’s ever met.

Of course, that man happens to hate him with a loathing so deep that he has tried to kill him on sight multiple times over the years.

Oh well. Tim huffs a laugh and begins carving out the coconut meat. You can’t have everything. And if life does give you something good, chances are it’s going to turn around and punch you in the face at some point.

If there’s one thing he’s used to, it’s rolling with the punches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim and Jason, turning their backs on each other after washing ashore:** “I never wanna see you again!” *Stomp away in opposite directions* “Good riddance”  
>  **Desert Island, tiny enough that they end up walking around it in like twenty minutes:** “Lol”  
>  **Tim and Jason, walking into each other again and realizing they’re going to have to work together to survive out here:** “…Shit”


	3. Chapter 3

Jason finally finishes weaving the damn lean-to roof and straightens with a sigh, reaching his arms up high to stretch his protesting muscles. That was way the hell too much bending. He looks around and frowns. It’s a lot darker than it was when he started, and he’s pretty sure it isn’t because night is coming. Dark clouds fill the sky and the wind is picking up ominously. Fuck. It looks like he finished building the shelter just in time.

He glances around, catching Drake staring at him with that weird look on his face again. His cheeks are starting to go red. Jason frowns. They don’t need to deal with sunburns on top of everything else. He tans just fine after a few hours in the sun, but it’s clear that his replacement does not. “Get in the damn lean-to before you spontaneously combust,” he grumbles, annoyed at his own concern. He’s not supposed to be worrying about his replacement. 

Drake jumps at his voice, looking startled. “Oh, it’s done?” He smiles and holds out a half-coconut shell filled with little white triangles. “Cool. Here, have some coconut.”

Accepting his shell, Jason gestures toward the lean-to again. “C’mon, you’re burning up, you little vampire. Get in there before you turn to ash.” He pulls the door open and nudges the smaller man toward it. The damn Bats will give him hell if he returns his replacement in anything less than pristine condition. That’s the only reason he’s at all interested in Drake’s health.

It definitely isn’t because the little shit’s starting to grow on him.

“I’m not the one who’s completely exposed right now,” Drake grumbles, clutching his own loaded half-coconut shell in one hand as he crawls through the narrow door into the lean-to.

“No, but you’re the one without any melanin,” Jason says, waiting for him to make it in before following him. “Genetics really fucked you over there.” He tugs the door shut behind them and secures it with a little curl of ninja wire he attached to it for that purpose.

Drake snorts. “I’d argue but it’s true. The ability to tan would be useful.” He glances around as he settles on the other side of the narrow interior, sitting criss-cross. “Nice,” he says approvingly, his gaze trailing over the palm fronds which Jason laid out over most of the ground inside the lean-to.

It’s a bit warmer in here than it is outside and the light has a dim, filtered quality after passing through the thickly woven palm fronds. Outside, the wind rises and then the distinctive pitter patter of raindrops drumming on the roof begins.

“Fuck. Guess we’re about to find out if it’s watertight,” Jason says, eyeing the woven palm fronds overhead apprehensively. He did his best to weave them tightly and build up several overlapping layers, but he’s not sure it’s going to be enough.

Drake blinks, then lurches toward him, practically scrambling into his lap in an attempt to reach the door behind him.

“What the—?” Jason jerks back and raises his hands in the air, blushing as his replacement crawls all over him. “The fuck do you think you’re doing, Drake?”

Drake turns big, earnest eyes on him. “Your helmet! We should point it up so it fills with rainwater.”

“Huh. That’s—well, that’s fuckin’ gross, replacement. You really wanna drink my sweat-water?” Still, it’s a good idea. They don’t have a catch basin set up. Maybe if the helmet doesn’t work out, he can go dig a quick pit outside and lay Drake’s rubber cape in it to collect water.

For now, though, the helmet’s probably their best bet. Jason reaches over to assist him, tugging the door open so that Drake can skitter out and tip his helmet upright where it sits forgotten off to the side.

“It’ll do for now. Later, we might be able to dig a concave hole and spread my cape out in it like a pond liner to catch rainfall,” Drake says, unknowingly echoing Jason’s thoughts. “That would solve our water issues for a while. Hopefully it rains frequently here.” He crawls back inside, climbing across Jason’s lap again to reach the interior of the lean-to. He doesn’t even seem to be aware of what he’s doing. Normally, he’s cautious around Jason, tense. He has a damn good reason.

Jason is starting to realize that he likes this more relaxed, animated version of Drake. It’s difficult not to notice the way he smells, like salt and fresh air, or the feel of him, small and compact but surprisingly solid.

He’d be a comfortable size to hold, Jason finds himself thinking. A moment later, he catches up to where his mind just was and shakes his head so violently that he practically brains himself on one of the supports.

No. There is no way in hell he’s noticing his replacement like _that_ now, not after all the shit that’s gone down between them over the years. Sure, he’s fucking pretty— _really_ fucking pretty, Jason thinks as he stares at the waves of soft black hair which fall loosely over those gorgeous blue eyes—but they have nothing in common. Drake is a spoiled rich brat who’s perfectly happy to follow Bruce’s every order like a mindless little robot. Jason is really fucking not.

He shoves down memories of the past few hours and the surprisingly down-to-earth, snarky personality Drake’s displayed so far. He definitely doesn’t allow himself to think about the hints his replacement has given that his childhood wasn’t actually the easy ride with loving parents and a silver spoon shoved up his ass that Jason has always assumed.

There’s no way he has been wrong about who Tim Drake is all this time. He’s bound to snap back to being Bruce’s perfect little soldier at any moment, and Jason’s not about to roll over for whatever damn patronizing lecture he decides to pull when that time comes.

Sexy or not—and Drake is admittedly really fucking hot, with his gorgeous light build packed with tight, sculpted muscle and topped with a face that could have been carved from marble by the hand of a master—he’s still the little shit who replaced Jason before he was cold in his grave. He’s still the one Jason has terrorized off and on over the years in his quest for vengeance.

Even if Jason is beginning to see him as something more, it doesn’t matter. The bottom line is, Drake is never going to see Jason as anything other than a failure and the raging bag of dicks who tried to carve him up when he was fifteen.

Jason’s not sure he even wants Drake to see him as anything else. After all, just the thought of that prissy little face usually pisses him off enough to start seeing green. It’s better for everyone if they keep their distance from each other.

He sighs. Yeah, maybe so, but that’s a little difficult under the current circumstances. He’s not about to build another lean-to just so they can practice appropriate social distancing. They’ll just have to be mature for once and try to refrain from pissing each other off enough to go homicidal until rescue arrives.

After a few minutes of listening to the drumming of the rain on the palm fronds, Drake speaks up again. “Uh, I think we should check on the helmet. It’s been coming down pretty hard out there.”

Jason nods and turns to open the door himself, not trusting his own reactions if Drake starts wiggling and squirming on his lap again. He’s only human, and he’s not even wearing any damn underwear. The last thing they need is him springing wood and freaking Drake the fuck out.

He snickers, imagining making a lewd offer to dislodge the stick up Drake’s ass. It’s almost worth an embarrassing, untimely erection just to get the opportunity to make that joke.

Not quite, though. Also, Drake seems pretty embarrassed about still being the virgin wonder. Jason should probably stop teasing him about it. After all, he’s trying to be less of a dick to him while they’re marooned together on a desert island.

He reaches out and snags the helmet, which is now brimming with water. Impressive. “Holy shit. It actually worked.”

“Awesome,” Drake says, reaching out a hand for it. “I had this idea…”

Instead of explaining, he carefully takes the helmet and tips it over one of the numerous shallow divots in the rock, filling it with water like a natural bowl. “Limestone can add dissolved minerals to water, causing it to become hard, but it’s perfectly safe to drink. Here, set the helmet back out. Let’s see how many times we can fill it.” He presses the helmet back into Jason’s hands with a bright smile.

Jason swallows as he forces himself to tear his eyes away. He turns to put the helmet back outside so it can capture more of the downpour. “Good idea,” he says as he seals the door again.

Drake just shrugs, biting his lip. “It wouldn’t be surprising if some of these hollows start to fill up naturally, as water from the rain makes its way down through permeable channels in the rock and then works its way out at the seeps. I mean, that’s probably how this feature formed in the first place, right?”

“That makes sense.” Jason eyes the smooth, undulating surfaces of the erosional feature in the stone wall at the high end of their lean-to with interest. “This is the same rock that the Cave is made from, isn’t it?” he blurts out, not realizing what he’s going to say until the words have already been spoken.

He waits for Drake to sneer at him, to say something cutting about how he must barely remember the Cave now that he’s fallen so far and long from grace. It would be only fair—after all, he has never hesitated to attack his replacement’s weak points. Drake must know this is one of his. 

Jason has seen the inside of the Bat Cave a mere handful of times since his return from the dead. Each of those times happened while he was working in an uneasy alliance with the Bats in order to combat a world-ending crisis bigger than them and their grudges.

Each time, he left the second that things were under control, preferring to go of his own accord rather than waiting around to endure the shame of being kicked out. He has never tried to drop by when there wasn’t an active crisis requiring his presence.

He honestly isn’t sure they’d let him in. 

“Yeah,” Drake says, running his fingers over the smooth rock. Instead of saying something hurtful and true, he just gives him a small, sweet smile. “Erosional features like this are common in limestone due to its ready dissolution when exposed to rainwater carrying carbon dioxide from the air. The Bat Cave is a really impressive example, though. This one barely counts as a cave.”

“It doesn’t even have any cool stalactites,” Jason says, his lips tugging into a crooked grin despite himself.

“Right? Oh man, did you ever explore the lower levels? You know, if you go down a level below where the old cars are and then head east—” Drake gestures widely, so excited he knocks one hand into the wall. “Ow.” He glares at the wall for a second, looking adorably betrayed.

“Through that weird twisty passage only a kid could fit in?” Jason snickers, nodding. “Oh, fuck, I totally thought B sealed that off after the time I went down there. He was freaking out, so pissed off that I went exploring by myself—”

“To be fair, it was incredibly stupid for either of us to go caving alone. At least I was smart enough to take the caver’s GPS, multiple light sources, and all the protective gear, though! I even left a note telling Alfred exactly where I was going and when I expected to be back. But… I still probably shouldn’t have done it.” Drake looks guilty. It’s irritatingly cute.

“You fuckin’ boy scout,” Jason says, trying not to notice the fondness creeping into his tones. “I just up and went. Thought B was gonna have a stroke when I came back out and admitted where I’d been.” He chuckles at the memory, although he does feel a twinge at the reminder of how much Bruce once cared.

He doesn’t now, not anymore. Not in a long damn while. How could he?

Drake finishes his coconut pieces and then dips his empty half-shell into the stone basin. He lifts it to his lips and drinks before setting it down with a sigh. “Those formations were incredibly beautiful. Do you remember the place where it opened up into a big chamber with a subterranean river? The stalactites and stalagmites were so long, some of them were touching. It was like being in a natural cathedral filled with columns.”

Jason remembers. The quiet beauty of that place has always stayed with him. Some of the mineral formations descending from the ceiling were so delicate, they resembled drinking straws. He remembers standing stock still and just staring, so afraid he’d destroy them with a clumsy touch that he barely allowed himself to breathe.

“Eh, kinda,” he says with a deliberately careless shrug. “It was okay. I guess.” He scratches his stomach and leans back, wishing his damn replacement would quit looking at him with those big, hurt-looking eyes. Doesn’t he understand that they’re bad for each other? They shouldn’t be swapping stories and trying to make friends. They should just do what they have to in order to get through this intact.

“Oh,” Drake says softly, finally looking away. “I guess I thought it meant more to you.” He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. “I found some notes you left that mentioned it.”

Oh shit. “You went through my stuff?” He finds himself sitting up with his hands clenched, looming over Drake in the small space. He can feel the green rising at the thought that it wasn’t enough for his successor to take his place, no—he also apparently dug through all of Jason’s pathetic possessions and judged them, sifted through his private writings and fuck knows what else. Probably laughed about it later, wondering how such a loser ever ended up in the suit.

The only thing that lets him hold onto a thin thread of control is the fact that Drake obviously isn’t laughing now.

Drake leans back, his bright blue eyes going wide as he takes in Jason’s aggressive body language. Outside, the rain drums on the palm frond roof, loud enough to cover the back and forth rush of the sea in the distance. “I didn’t mean to,” he says softly. “I was looking for a book on caves in the library, and I found your notes folded up between the pages. The map you drew—that was how I found that part of the Cave.”

Drake bites his lip, then opens his mouth again to release a soft, shuddering sigh. “You made it sound so beautiful. I just wanted to see it, share that memory with you even if I was too late to share anything else. It was like Robin, you know? Another piece of your legacy, something I could try to carry forward for you.”

Jason is frozen, barely able to breathe. He feels like if he moves, he’s going to destroy something fragile and precious, something he never realized existed until he blundered into it like an idiot.

Drake is still talking. “I used to look up to you so much, you know? It’s really dumb, looking back on it, but… It felt like a way to get to know you, seeing the things and places you cared about and trying to appreciate them for you.” His gaze drops, dark lashes shuttering his eyes as he shrugs, looking so fucking small. He huffs a pathetic attempt at a laugh. “I used to talk to your portrait. I imagined that you’d approve, that if you could somehow see the way I tried to carry on your legacy and honor it, you’d be happy. God, I was so off-base there.” He laughs again, louder and harsher than before. It sounds jagged, filled with something dark that’s all turned inward. 

Well, now Jason feels like a raging dick. He clears his throat, sinking down and hunching his stupidly big shoulders so he isn’t looming over his replacement. As he does so, it occurs to him that he’s blocking the only exit with his dumb bulk. There’s a sick, twisting feeling in his gut at the thought.

“Replacement—” he starts, not knowing where the hell he’s going with this. What the fuck can he even say to all that?

“Tim,” Drake says sharply, whipping his head up and nailing him with a hard stare. After a moment, his gaze softens and drops away. “Just… If we’re going to be stuck here a while. I’d appreciate it if you called me by my name. Please.”

“Tim.” He nods. Okay. Yeah, that’s something he can do.

They both fall silent then. Drake—no, Tim busies himself with opening up every single one of the compartments on his bandoliers and checking the contents. He seems to be sorting things into piles of things based on whether they’re potentially useful, probably not useful, or really fucking broken. The really fucking broken pile appears to be growing the fastest.

Jason clears his throat, wishing he had something to do with his hands. He isn’t ready to talk more right now—the revelation that he was a hero to the kid he’s been vilifying for years is going to take a little more getting used to before he’ll be able to talk around the confused lump in his throat.

After a few minutes, he opens the door again and empties the helmet into another one of the erosional divots in the stone. At least this batch probably won’t taste as much like sweat. He grimaces, feeling a stab of completely irrational guilt over Tim having to drink water tainted with Jason’s gross sweat.

Fuck it. At least they’re not dying of thirst.

While he has the door open, he spots a pile of unused palm fronds and drags some of them into the lean-to. They’re wet, but usable. His mom used to be into crafts, on the occasions when she still had a few spare dollars for supplies and the energy to get out of bed. He remembers making baskets with her sometimes.

Baskets would be useful. This is something he can do. He reaches over and takes the kris from where Tim left it by the door and then uses it to trim the palm fronds until he has a heap of long, narrow strips of roughly equal widths and lengths. He lays a dozen of them out flat on the ground, then begins carefully weaving the rest of the fronds through perpendicularly, making sure to keep the weave tight.

Once the bottom is finished, he folds the sides up, then gets started weaving them together. After he finishes, he trims the loose ends and folds each one over, tucking it back into the weave pattern so there aren’t any bits sticking up.

After that, he squints at the woven box in front of him, trying to remember how the fuck to attach a handle. It doesn’t come back to him. Well, whatever. It’ll still work even without a handle. He starts laying out palm fronds to make another.

“That’s really cool,” Tim says. “Where did you learn to do it?”

Jason glances up, almost startled by the reminder that he isn’t alone. All of Tim’s shit is tucked back into his bandoliers and he’s holding Jason’s basket, turning it from side to side.

His automatic response is a wave of defensive anger. Arts and crafts were never something it paid to show an interest in while he was living on the streets. He learned young to hide those particular skills or risk getting punched by judgemental bullies. “What, you judging me? Just because I know how to weave doesn’t mean I can’t cave in your stupid face—”

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that. It looks really cool.” Tim’s expression is open, his blue eyes clear and earnest. He’s telling the truth.

For a moment, Jason experiences a sensation of vertigo as he wonders just how many of their interactions have happened outside the masks. Almost none up until now, he’s pretty sure. How many times has he assumed the worst about his replacement’s intentions, heard insults where none were intended? How many times would he have held back his fists if he could only see his replacement’s eyes and read his intentions there?

Well, fuck.

“Oh. Uh, thanks,” Jason says gruffly. He shifts, feeling uncomfortable. “My, uh, my mom.”

“Huh?”

“She used to like to make things. Like, knit and crochet or whatever, and weave baskets. She taught me how.” He grimaces, regretting the admission already.

Tim smiles. “You know how to knit? You know, I’m picturing you in the Red Hood suit with a tiny pair of knitting needles, making a gun cozy or something. Are those a thing? I want those to be a thing.”

“They could be a thing,” Jason says, resuming work on his second basket. “I’m surprised you didn’t jump straight to imagining me stabbing someone with a knitting needle.”

Tim’s eyebrows flick up in interest. “Have you ever stabbed someone with a knitting needle?” He just looks and sounds curious, with none of the censure Jason would have read into the question if that expressive face were hidden behind Red Robin’s cowl.

“A gentleman never tells,” he drawls.

“That raises so many questions I don’t want answers to,” Tim says, making a face. “Oh my god, is this a sex thing? I really don’t want to know if this is some kind of weird sex thing involving knitting needles.”

“Don’t kink shame me, replace—uh, Timbo! What a man does in his own home with his own craft supplies is his own business.” He barely manages to finish the sentence with a straight face, and loses it entirely when Tim starts openly laughing.

He has a really nice laugh.

Tim begins laying out his own palm fronds, darting quick glances at Jason’s half-finished basket and trying to copy his movements. He’s doing fine, but the weave is too loose.

“Like this,” Jason says, reaching over and guiding Tim’s hands with his own. As he does so, he marvels at the difference. The contrast between his own huge, sun-browned, calloused paws and Tim’s fine-boned but strong hands seems to highlight all the differences between them. Jason is big and rough and an asshole, while Tim is small and fine and way the hell too damn good for him.

It was easy to rail against the unfairness when he could project all of his own worst thoughts and fears onto his replacement, but now…

The more he gets to know Tim Drake, the worse he feels about what he did to him.

It makes him feel even shittier about the growing sense of _want_ he can’t help but feel. He has no right to take anything else from Tim, especially not _that._

But maybe…

They might just be able to learn to be friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, bored while trapped in hut on desert island during torrential downpour:** “Hey, wanna play truth or dare?”  
>  **Tim, eyeing him mistrustfully:** “Hell no”  
>  **Jason, rolling right past his protests:** “Okay great. I dare you to eat this weird slime I found on the rock”  
>  **Tim, eyeing slime even more mistrustfully:** “I repeat, HELL no. God, I can’t believe I used to idolize you and became Robin to honor and uphold your memory”  
>  **Jason, dumbfounded:** “Well, fuck. I guess we don’t hafta pick truth now”


	4. Chapter 4

By the time the rain stops, they’ve each drunk the equivalent of half a helmet full of water. They have also managed to fill three of the stone reservoirs with rainwater. Tim takes one last drink and then leaves his half-coconut shell on the stone shelf by one of the pools of rainwater. He sighs, resting his eyes for a moment as he takes stock of the situation.

The headache he could feel coming on earlier is beginning to fade. It must have been due to dehydration, then, and not lack of caffeine. That’s a relief. He has a ready solution for one of those problems, but not the other. Absently, he makes a mental note to add caffeine tablets to his emergency supplies once they get out of this mess.

Well, that’s for later. Right now, the next step is making a fire, closely followed by foraging for food. He opens his eyes. “What are the chances any of that extra driftwood we brought up here might still be dry?” They should have brought some wood into the lean-to with them when they realized it was going to rain. Oops.

Jason blinks, clearly trying to remember the way they left things stacked outside. “Uh, some of it at the bottom of the pile is probably still dry. I dumped most of the extra palm fronds on top of the driftwood, remember?”

“Okay, cool. I’ll get started making a fire while you—”

“Fuck that. Why do you get to make the fire? I wanna make the fire.” Jason eyes him, clearly ready to defend his own right to play with fire. He doesn’t seem like he’s about to descend into violence over it, though. That’s definitely a step in the right direction.

It would probably be a good idea to walk away and let Jason make the fire anyway, just in case. Tim stares at him, eyes narrow. “We’ll both make the fire,” he decides after a moment. Why should he let Jason have all the fun?

Jason shrugs and goes to dig out the dry wood while Tim heads along the base of the cliff to gather stones he can use to construct a fire pit. The next few minutes pass in companionable silence as Tim uses a sharp-edged rock to dig out a reasonable pit at his selected location, downwind of the lean-to and far enough from any brush so as not to present a hazard. Meanwhile, Jason uses his kris to shave off bits of wood they can use for kindling.

The lighter Tim has in his bandoliers doesn’t end up working, but the flint and steel he has stored in the same compartment does the job just fine.

“I’m so fuckin’ glad we don’t hafta do this by rubbing two sticks together,” Jason mutters as he feeds another shaving of kindling to the tiny fire and stares, rapt, at the flickering flames.

“I feel personally offended that we’re still reduced to using stone age level tech for this. I’m adding waterproof lighters to my ever-growing list of equipment that badly needs an upgrade.” That list just keeps getting longer. If nothing else, this experience has gone a long way toward showing him the weak points in his standard kit. Tim adds a hefty length of wood to the structure, grinning when the fire immediately begins running up the side of his offering. “So cool,” he whispers. Fire is awesome.

“Fuck, you’re a little pyro, aren’t you?” Jason says, his eyebrows rising in apparent surprise. “I bet you love to blow shit up, too. Why the hell haven’t we ever blown shit up together before?”

Tim looks at him, blinking. “Ah, maybe because it never occurred to me until this moment that you might _want_ to blow things up with me?” He frowns, considering. “I mean, we’re an explosive combination in general. Why risk making it literal?”

Jason snickers before eyeing him with a guilty-looking wince. “Look, Tim, I think…” He runs his fingers through his wavy hair and sighs. “I’ve been an asshole to you since I came back. I assumed a lot of shit about you back then, and I never really bothered to find out if it was all true. But you’re not—” He breaks off, then shrugs. “You’re not anything like what I thought.”

The fire crackles merrily as it gleefully consumes the driftwood they fed it so far. Jason eyes it, then reaches over for a couple of the thicker logs to add to the pile.

“So…” Tim trails off, not wanting to risk destabilizing the situation. They have managed to work together just fine all day—heck, Jason even rescued him, albeit reluctantly. He doesn’t want to ask the wrong question and accidentally set him off again. “Okay,” he says finally. That should be safe enough.

“No, it’s not fucking okay,” Jason growls, and Tim tenses. Jason sees it and his face twists. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’m trying to apologize, okay? It’s fucked up that I came after you when you were fifteen, it’s fucked up that I did it again and again after that, and it’s fucked up that it took me this long to realize you didn’t deserve any of it.”

There’s a lump in Tim’s throat and his eyes are stinging. He swallows, but that doesn’t make it better. “Uh, it’s fine,” he tries to say, but his voice isn’t cooperating.

Jason looks alarmed. “Oh, shit—damn it, I didn’t mean to make you _cry—”_

Tim glares at him. “I’m not crying. I have allergies.” He sniffs loudly and blinks something that is definitely not tears out of his eyes.

“Oh, yeah?” Jason says with a suppressed smile, his expression softer than Tim has ever seen it. Then he smirks. “Maybe it’s all the smoke from the fire. That sucks. Guess that means I’m definitely the one who should be in charge of the fire from now on, to spare you from having allergies—”

“No, nope, absolutely not.” Tim sniffs again and scrubs at his eyes. “I’m fine now, see?” He grabs another log and holds it out to the fire, watching the flames take hold and catch the end alight. “Hey, we could totally char the ends of some of these logs and then hike up to the top of the cliffs and write a massive SOS.”

Jason’s brows rise. “Huh, it is pretty damn flat up there. And the limestone is practically white from all the bird shit, so the dark ash would show up great. Good idea, Timmers.”

“Ugh, what? Bird… Ew.” Tim crinkles his nose. “Somehow I missed that. I thought the rock was just white.” He frowns, shuddering. “Gah, and you were walking on it barefoot.”

“Doesn’t change that it’s a good idea.” Jason chuckles. “And no worries—it’s all dry so it’s not like anything stuck to my feet.”

It’s still gross.

Then again, they’re in a situation in which the normal standards of cleanliness are probably going to be falling by the wayside. All the sand in his various crevices can definitely attest to that.

Tim catches more of his log on fire and basks in the radiant heat from the growing flames. There’s also a little inner glow at Jason’s praise that he’s not going to think about right now. After a few more minutes, he clears his throat. “Well, the fire’s established now.” Glancing at the sky, he makes a rough estimate of the time. “I think we have a few more hours of daylight. How about we split up for a while? One of us can work on writing the SOS and keep an eye on the fire while the other forages. We can switch off after half an hour or so, then meet back here after we’re done and figure out something for dinner.”

“Sounds good,” Jason says, rising to his feet and stretching. He winces. “I think I’ll make myself some sandals, too. Not sure what to use for them—”

“Oh!” Tim stands up as well, double checking the area around their fire and then moving the pile of spare wood well clear. Starting a wildfire and burning down their island is not on his to do list for the day. “I can go grab the neoprene cape from my suit. It’s like rubber, so you should be able to carve some decent sandal soles from it. Maybe even some thin strips to attach them to your feet.”

It’s too late to keep him from walking barefoot through powdered bird crap, apparently, but hey, better late than never.

“That sounds way the fuck better than weaving ‘em outta palm fronds,” Jason says, looking relieved. “Those things are useful as hell, but they have sharp edges.” He nods, then selects a couple of unevenly burned logs and harvests them from the fire. “I’ll get going on our SOS. Seeya in a few.”

Tim winces as Jason heads up Bird Crap Ridge, still barefoot. Well, best get on with fixing that. He detours to the lean-to and grabs the kris as well as the two baskets Jason made. He makes a face when he glimpses the one he constructed himself—it lacks the tight weave and has gaping holes in it. He’d probably lose anything he tried to carry back in that. Good thing Jason made two. Baskets in hand, he heads down the beach toward the rocks where he stashed his gear early this morning.

Once he’s there, he pulls out his outer uniform, considers for a moment, and then shoves all of the spare gear into one of the baskets. Might as well bring everything back to the lean-to and store it there in case they need anything else from it. He walks back along the beach, heading for the tidepools. It has to be getting close to the half hour time limit he set, so he just uses the kris to pry a dozen mussels free from the rocks for his remaining basket. As an afterthought, he grabs a double handful of seaweed as well before heading back.

Jason is waiting by the fire, carefully rotating a log. He has six logs set up balanced around the edges of the firepit, each with a slowly charring end extended over the flames. He glances up at Tim’s approach. “Oh, fuck yeah!” he says when he catches sight of the loaded baskets. “Here, give me back my knife and I’ll get started on those sandals. You want a pair, too?”

Tim pauses, his lips parting slightly in surprise. He didn’t even consider that. “I have shoes—” he says, glancing down at his aching feet. The boots he’s wearing are thick and heavy, ideal for working and designed to hold up well under rough conditions and use. They’re also incredibly uncomfortable after wearing them for this many hours without a break.

“I bet it would feel damn good to take ‘em off, though. Maybe you could use the sandals for just around camp.” Jason shrugs, looking embarrassed now that Tim isn’t jumping at his offer.

“That sounds great,” he blurts out, more because he doesn’t want to rebuff an olive branch rather than any burning desire for a pair of probably uncomfortable and ill-fitting rubber sandals. “Thanks for thinking of that.”

Jason gives him a hesitant, shy-looking smile that makes up for every painful blister those rubber sandals are almost certainly going to give him. “Cool.” He accepts the doomed rubber cape and spreads it on the ground before taking the kris and beginning to gently trace out a pattern, barely scoring the knife blade along the surface of the material. “Here, stand on this for a second so I can outline your feet.”

Tim steps forward and watches Jason trace the outline of his boots, marveling at the fact that he’s inches away from a knife-wielding Jason Todd and yet he feels entirely safe.

This has been a weird experience all around, but that’s probably the strangest moment yet.

“All done,” Jason says after a minute or so. “Oh fuck, the logs.” He throws a glance at where the fire is merrily climbing his carefully-charred logs.

“I got it.” Tim heads over to the fire and rescues the logs, then eyes the level of the flames, considering the merits of building it up some more. Fire is fun.

“Oh, we gotta let it die down some now. We need it to be low for cooking on.” Jason snickers when he catches sight of Tim’s disappointed face. “Fuck, you really are a little pyro, aren’t you? Damn, now we really gotta blow some warehouses up together sometime. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this all this time!” His laughter follows Tim up the cliff.

At the top of the cliff, he studies the ground to see what kind of progress Jason made, trying not to notice the copious deposits of bird poop everywhere. Now that he’s aware of it, it’s all he can see. He forces himself to focus. There’s most of an ‘S’ drawn already, outlined and filled in with charcoal, and he can see what looks like an outline for the rest of the ‘SOS’ traced out in small rocks. Jason must have placed them there as a guide when he was determining how to best utilize the available space for the message.

Well, that will do. Tim raises his first charred branch and sets to work. It takes a while. He ends up having to make several trips back to the fire to re-char his logs. As he works, he’s peripherally aware of Jason cutting out pieces of material for his sandals, piecing them together, and then binding the thongs to the soles with some of the adhesive from Tim’s bandoliers and a few tiny knots of ninja wire.

At some point, Jason disappears with the kris, leaving him in complete charge of the fire. By the time Tim finishes coloring in the final ‘S’ on the clifftop and looks out over the island, Jason is heading back up the beach toward him, grinning. He’s wearing what looks like a decent pair of homemade sandals. As he draws closer, Tim makes out a string of fish dangling from one hand and what looks like a carved wooden spear in the other.

“Nice,” he says approvingly as Jason sets the fish down in what Tim is embarrassed to realize is his own subpar attempt at a basket. Well, whatever. At least the fish seem to be too large to slide out through the numerous gaps.

“Thanks. It was harder than I expected. You gotta adjust your aim for the refraction in the water.”

“Well, great job figuring out how to spear fish. Somehow, I never pictured you as a spear guy. It doesn’t seem like your type of weapon.” Tim snickers, his mind filling with the image of Red Hood shooting fish in the ocean to get his dinner. “I guess a gun wouldn’t translate well to fishing.”

At Jason’s answering blush and guilty silence, Tim’s eyes widen. “Wait, _did_ you shoot at the fish?” He frowns. “I’m surprised I didn’t hear it. Also, I thought you lost your guns in the ocean. Oh my god, where have you been _keeping_ them?” His gaze is drawn involuntarily to Jason’s green loincloth. There’s literally nowhere else on his body he could be hiding a gun. “No offense, but hiding a gun there seems pretty risky.”

Jason blushes harder. “No! Using a gun would’ve scared all the other fish away. Not that I even have a gun right now. Fuck, no way would I risk shooting my own damn balls off.” He shakes his head. “I, uh, did try using your grapnel at first though. It just bounced off,” he mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Shut up—I know it was a dumb idea.”

Tim’s lips curve in a smile and he shakes his head. “No, that doesn’t sound dumb at all. I mean, if it had worked, you could’ve just retracted it to retrieve your catch. That would be so efficient.”

“Right? Thank you!”

“Anyway, it looks like you managed to work something out.” Tim eyes the assembled baskets of fish, mussels, and seaweed, then glances uncertainly at the fire. “Ah, so… This is the point where my wilderness survival knowledge becomes much more theoretical and less practical.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason’s gaze sharpens with interest. Crap.

Tim considers the possibilities, then decides to just lay it on the table. It’s better to have Jason know he’s balls at cooking than for both of them to have to choke down whatever barely-edible concoctions he’d probably end up making out of the gathered ingredients. “Uh, do _you_ know how to cook? Because if we’re relying on me, this might not go so well.”

“What, there’s actually something you’re _not_ perfect at?” Jason’s voice is teasing, with none of the vitriol which usually accompanies that kind of comment. It makes him feel warm inside all over again.

Tim bites his lip, shrugging. “There are at least a few things I’m not perfect at.”

“Oh yeah? What else?” That’s definitely a leer in Jason’s voice.

He’s absolutely thinking about that stupid virgin rumor again, Tim can tell. Damn Dick anyway for spreading those rumors. He’s such a dork. His denial about his little brother figure having a sex life manifests in such weird ways.

Blushing, Tim shakes his head and bites back a smile. “That’s something you’ll just have to find out for yourself.” He only realizes after he’s said it how that could be taken.

“Sounds like a challenge.” Jason grins, clearly enjoying this exchange way too much.

“But seriously—are you any good at cooking? Because if you’re as bad as I am, we’re going to have problems.” Tim eyes the fish and seriously weighs the pros and cons of eating it raw. At least raw is edible, and there are medical treatments for parasites. No one can eat it if it’s overcooked into a carbonized fish-shaped pile of ash.

It’s not that cooking is too difficult for him—after all, he can do chemistry and meticulous lab work just fine. Of course he should be capable of following a recipe. It’s just… The kitchen was always an especially lonely place for him as a kid. During his stints on his own, he avoided the stove—after all, what if he caused a fire while he was by himself? There’d be no one around to help. The Drakes didn’t have anything as plebeian as a microwave. So, he became something of an expert at food that could be prepared and eaten cold.

It’s a habit that has stuck with him over the years. But none of that is something he feels like going into right now. Hopefully, Jason won’t ask.

“What, the cooking part?” Jason gives him a crooked grin. “No worries, I got that covered.”

Tim sags in relief. Not that he wouldn’t manage to produce something edible eventually—probably. Maybe. He just wasn’t looking forward to having to eat the charred remains of anything he tried to prepare using nothing more than an open fire, some rocks, and raw hope. Heck, he has trouble cooking in a modern, gourmet kitchen. Trying it out here would absolutely not end well. “Awesome. What can I do to help?”

Jason looks surprised at the offer. His face softens slightly and he gestures toward the fish. “Let me show you how to clean one of these, then I’ll get the mussels going while you clean the rest of the fish.”

What follows is gross and definitely not something Tim ever expected to have to do. Still, their stomachs are growling audibly now at the thought of food. The boundaries of what he’s willing to do seem to be expanding with each twist of his painfully empty stomach.

“Just like that,” Jason says with a final flick of the knife, dropping the cleaned fillets of fish onto a flat-ish stone he dragged over to heat in the fire earlier. The fish immediately begins to sizzle, a mouthwatering aroma rising soon after. “Oh fuck, that smells good.” His stomach growls loudly and he immediately blushes, his cheeks going pink in a way that highlights the smattering of freckles across his cheekbones. Those freckles have grown more prominent as the day wore on. Tim wants to touch them.

He looks incredibly cute. “Okay,” Tim says, trying not to stare like a creep. “I think I can manage now.”

Jason nods and goes to grab the mussels and seaweed, which he places together in—Tim frowns in confusion—his helmet? He scoops some water in there as well and brings the whole sloshing thing over to the fire, where he wedges it between some of the small rocks placed in among the coals.

“I can’t believe you’re cooking our dinner in that thing,” Tim says blankly. “I don’t know how I feel about this.”

Jason throws him a glance. “Oh, don’t worry! I already removed the electronics and the bomb. It’s just a shell now, nothing to worry about.” He seems to think that statement is way more reassuring than it actually is.

“Wait, _bomb?_ You keep a bomb by your _head?”_ Tim feels like this is not a point that should be glossed over.

“It’s only set to go off if someone starts messing with the helmet.” Jason shrugs.

“Oh my god,” Tim whispers, hair-raising visions filling his mind of Bruce or Dick coming upon a wounded Jason and immediately trying to remove his helmet to administer medical aid. “Would you ever consider maybe changing that? Like, to a booby trap that only hurts the people attacking you without injuring you as well?” His voice is faint.

Jason looks at him with a slight frown and an expression like he’s trying to figure something out. “You worried about me, repl—Timmy? Afraid I’m gonna get blown up again?”

The charged words cause Tim’s stomach to tighten, his body automatically tensing in readiness for an attack. But… Jason’s expression is simply curious, maybe a little wistful. He doesn’t look like he’s about to go green and come after him, despite the loaded reference to his death. Hesitantly, Tim uncurls and answers. “Yeah. I am. So could you maybe not do that?”

Swallowing, Jason turns back to poke at the mussels. “I’ll take it under advisement,” he says.

Well, that’s probably the best Tim can hope for.

A few minutes later, they’re both eating delicious, only slightly overcooked fish out of a couple of coconut shell bowls. The helmet soup is bubbling merrily and the mussel shells are beginning to open. The sun is hanging low over the horizon and Tim makes a happy noise, enjoying his meal and the opportunity to just sit after working hard for most of the day. It’s not like either of them got much—any?—sleep last night. 

He finishes his fish and Jason uses a spare half-coconut shell to scoop some of the mussels, seaweed, and broth into his bowl. It’s simple but just as tasty as the fish. He sighs softly and leans back, watching the fire and the way the breeze plays with Jason’s black curls.

With a jolt of surprise, he realizes he’s having fun. The looming thought of what’s going to happen when they get off the island nudges its way forward, and he shoves it to the back of his mind. Jason’s change in attitude toward him might have a lot more to do with the fact that they’re depending on each other for survival right now than any real change of heart. Once they’re back in Gotham, all bets will be off.

He doesn’t want to think about that right now, though. Jason’s rich laughter rings out as the sky fills with the vivid hues of a glorious sunset, reflected in pastel mimicry on the surface of the water. Tim smiles.

For now, he’s just going to enjoy this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, eyeing his battered feet and frowning:** “Damn, I’m really not lookin’ forward to walkin’ through all the bird shit again”  
>  **Tim, appalled:** “Well that’s just not sanitary” *Scampers across the island, returns with material to make shoes and also dinner* “Here you go!”   
> **Jason, surprised but happy:** “Fuck, thanks man” *Shoots some fish, then makes sandals and dinner for all*   
> **Tim and Jason, enjoying their delicious dinner despite the fact that it was cooked in a helmet and also they haven’t washed their hands since yesterday:** “Mmm!” *Go in for a high five, then eye each other’s filthy hands and cringe away. Give each other manly nods instead*


	5. Chapter 5

As night falls, Jason tilts his head back and stares at the brilliant sky. The Milky Way stretches overhead in a vast glittering band, its component stars each located an unfathomable distance away. Looking at them now, he has the strangest sense that they’re practically close enough to touch.

He remembers being a brat in Gotham and not actually believing in the stars until he saw them for the first time on a rare clear night when he was ten. His mom just laughed and made hot cocoa for them to drink while watching the twinkling lights, barely visible through the light pollution in the city.

It was cold as fuck and the street outside their apartment stank like piss, but his mom was having one of her good days. It’s one of his best memories. She hugged him and told him what she remembered about the constellations. He remembers that she pointed out Ursa Major and half of Orion, barely visible above the burned-out tenement across the street where the homeless kids used to congregate, silent and pale with their drawn faces and huge, knowing eyes. He doesn’t chase the memory any further.

That was one of his mom’s last good days.

He takes a deep breath, the balmy night air filling his lungs and caressing his skin. Across the smoldering remains of the fire, Tim is quiet as well, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Jason wonders what they are.

When he looks at Tim the jagged edges of their past still rise up, ready to cut, but they’re muted now, softened by the way Tim meets his eyes and gives him a slow, shy smile. Then he looks down and sees him wiggling his toes, sighing softly at the feel of his feet being free from the confines of his heavy boots for the first time all day.

He’s wearing the sandals Jason made for him. It’s such a minor thing, but it causes a wave of tender protectiveness to swell within him. He has done so much to hurt his successor over the years—attacked him without provocation time and again, fought with the intent to kill or at least injure severely. He did all of that while Tim, he’s fairly certain, was always just doing his best to fend him off.

If he’d ever stopped to think about it before, he might have wondered why. Now, he’s afraid he knows. Jason swallows. The questions slip out before he can halt the flow of words. “Why didn’t you ever try to take me out? When I went after you, I mean. You were always just on defense. I’ve seen you going all out against a rogue—why didn’t you ever fight me like that?”

At his words, Tim tenses, his fingers flexing as his shoulders tighten. His gaze flicks rapidly over Jason, from his eyes to his hands and then back to his face. After a moment, he slowly relaxes, apparently having decided that the questions weren’t intended as a precursor to yet another brutal attack.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Tim says quietly. “You’d already been hurt so badly. If there had been anything I could’ve done to help you, I would have, but just the sight of my face always seemed to bring out the worst in you. The best thing seemed to be to stay away, from you and anywhere you might be. I—” He blinks rapidly, looking down. He shakes his head with a wobbly laugh. “It’s stupid, but you’re still one of my heroes, you know?”

The lump in Jason’s throat tightens until he wants to cut it out with a knife. That’s what he was afraid Tim was going to say. He grimaces, thinking back to twenty-four hours ago when his biggest concern was how best to stick it to Bruce after bringing down the pirates. If he thought about his replacement at all, it was with bitterness and scorn.

How the hell did he end up here?

With every hour spent in Tim Drake’s presence, Jason’s preconceptions about the other man have eroded away, smoothing and softening the sharp edges of his emotions until the part of him that always reflexively lashed out before is quiet. Now, he realizes with a growing sense of dismay, he’s going to have to deal with the fallout of that change.

The problem is, Tim is turning out to be funny and sweet, a snarky, playful, brilliant person who’s actually really goddamn nice. He’s so fucking kind. It isn’t some kind of act to manipulate Jason—at least, he’s pretty sure it isn’t—Tim is simply a good person.

That makes it all the more stomach-churning that Jason’s interest in him just keeps intensifying instead of obeying his furious commands to calm it the fuck down. It doesn’t help that Tim is gorgeous, of course, or that he falls easily into a kind of playful banter that Jason can readily imagine carrying straight into the bedroom.

It’s not fair. If they’d met under different circumstances, they probably would’ve been friends. Hell, they might have ended up being more.

Instead, they have this. Whatever the hell that is.

“Guess this is an object lesson in why you should never meet your heroes,” he manages after a while. “Chances are, they’ll turn out to be shitty bastards who stab you in the throat and then write mean messages in your blood.”

Tim snorts. “I don’t know—I think that was just you. I mean, Superman never did that when I met him. Neither did Wonder Woman.”

Jason grins in spite of himself. “Damn, that’s over sixty percent of your heroes who didn’t turn out to be raging assholes. Impressive.”

“You’re not a raging asshole,” Tim says. He folds his legs up and wraps his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees as he regards him with a contemplative stare. “Well, not anymore,” he adds conscientiously. “I don’t regret meeting you.” A small smile flashes across his face. “Thanks for this.”

“For what?” Seriously, Jason doesn’t feel like any part of their sordid history merits Tim Drake thanking him.

“Talking to me like I’m a person.”

Ouch. “Christ, you have low standards, Tim.”

Tim snorts. “I’m neither going to confirm nor deny that. But seriously, this is the first time we’ve ever spent time together under non-crisis circumstances or held a meaningful conversation that wasn’t punctuated by enraged roars, gunfire, and the sound of fists driving into flesh.”

“I, uh, think I’m over that now. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” As Jason says the words, he realizes their truth. He feels lighter somehow, freed from the burden of believing Tim embodied everything Bruce wanted that Jason could never be, and hating them both for it.

“Well, that’s good.” Tim cracks a grin and nods toward the lean-to. “Considering we’re about to spend all night in a tiny, enclosed space together and all.”

Jason chuckles, rolling his shoulders with sigh. “Guess it’s about time for bed, huh.” He checks the fire, which is dying down from the roaring bonfire they took turns building up earlier in the evening. Tim wordlessly uses a log to nudge ashes over the coals from his side, helping to bank the fire. It’s so low it’ll probably die overnight, but that’s okay. They’ll have fun building it up again in the morning.

Once the fire is all tucked in for the night, they head over to the lean-to. Tim grabs what’s left of his cape on the way. “We can probably sleep on this,” he says with a shrug.

Jason grimaces. His skin is already dry from the saltwater, wind, and sun exposure, not to mention dotted here and there with insect bites even though he could swear he hasn’t seen a damn bug all day. The idea of sleeping on what amounts to a rubber sheet does not sound appealing.

Oh well. It’s still probably better than sleeping directly on the rough palm fronds they piled up in there earlier. “Sounds good.”

Tim spreads the cape out over the ground inside the lean-to while Jason takes a drink of water from their handy built-in storage reservoirs. As he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and turns to check out the sleeping arrangements, he finally realizes this might get a little awkward.

The cape is really only big enough for one of them to sleep on comfortably unless they’re touching. He clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, sleep over here.” He points to the strip of grass and soil along the wall with the door, opposite where Tim laid the cape out on the ground.

Tim rolls his eyes, stripping off his bandoliers and toeing out of his sandals. He opens one of the bandolier compartments and extracts a tiny silver roll, which he unfolds until he’s holding a crackly, thin emergency blanket. “What? No. Your bare skin would be scraped and poked all night by every twig and rock. Not to mention all the spiders that would absolutely walk right across your face and into your open mouth.”

“Spiders—Jesus, Tim, what the fuck? Why’d you hafta go and bring that up?” He eyes the bare strip of ground with trepidation. Now he _really_ doesn’t want to lie there.

“Just lie on the cape, Jay,” Tim says, breaking into a yawn. “It’s fine. I trust you.”

Why the fuck would he _say_ that? Jason can’t understand it, not after everything he has done. He’s too much of a coward to ask, though. Unaware of his inner turmoil, Tim lies down on the cape, wedging himself against the far wall to leave room for him to lie down.

When Jason just continues to stand there, staring at him dumbly, he rolls his eyes. “Look, it’s going to get cold and a loincloth isn’t going to cut it. Might as well share body heat.”

Jason blushes, resisting the urge to glance down at his loincloth. “Fine,” he says. He lowers himself gingerly to the ground, stretching out on the cape and trying to keep a couple of inches between them. It doesn’t work very well. “Your cape is too damn small,” he grumbles, shifting.

“Was that a short joke?” Tim eyes him suspiciously.

“You’re the one who said it, not me.” Jason pauses. “But yeah. It totally was.”

Tim snickers. “You suck.”

“Like a damn vacuum,” Jason says, winking reflexively. A moment later, his brain catches up with his mouth. “Shit, was that inappropriate? Just tell me if I make you uncomfortable.” He’s lying between Tim and the exit, after all—the last thing he wants is to make him feel unsafe. His resolution to quit giving Tim shit about his sexual inexperience didn’t last very long. Whoops.

Laughing, Tim shakes his head. “You’re fine.” He rolls onto his side and curls one arm under his head, regarding Jason with a contemplative expression. “Do you really?”

“What?” Jason has a bad feeling about where this conversation is headed.

“Suck like a vacuum.” Tim’s eyes glitter in the darkness.

Holy shit. “Uh… What the hell kinda getting to know you question is that? Jesus, Baby Bird, you really jump right to the hard ones.” He snickers. Hard ones. Heh.

Tim grins, shaking his head. “You don’t have to answer that. Or hey, we could work up to it. Let’s start smaller. What’s the best prank you ever pulled?”

Well, that sounds a hell of a lot safer than discussing his sex life with the guy he’s so damn attracted to that he’s been hiding a boner for the past ten minutes. “Damn, I’m not sure I could choose just one. Okay, did Dick ever tell you about the time I took a joyride on one of the Batcycles?”

Snickering, Tim shakes his head. “Nope. Did you ever hear about when I did the same thing, but with the Batmobile?”

Damn. That sounds promising. “Okay, I wanna hear that story.” Who knew serious, responsible Tim Drake had such hidden depths?

“You first.”

Jason grins. This is shaping up to be fun.

As the night wears on and the stories get more outrageous, they both relax, the space between them diminishing until they’re lying companionably on their backs, their arms pressed together. He’s laughing so hard he can barely breathe. “The giant penny? Really? I can’t believe you rode the goddamn giant penny into the damn Bat Cave. Fuck, I’d pay to see that, especially the look on Ra's al Fuckhead’s face.”

“It was pretty memorable,” Tim agrees with an easy grin. His eyes flutter closed and he yawns again.

The silence stretches on until Jason realizes by Tim’s slow, steady breathing that he has dropped off to sleep. He watches him for a moment, struck by the demonstration of trust. “I guess he meant it,” he murmurs. How can Tim be so relaxed around him?

He turns the puzzle over in his mind until he drifts off to sleep himself, still not having figured it out.

Jason wakes up slowly, gradually becoming aware of the fact that his back is stuck to something uncomfortably smooth and sticky, there’s sand in places he would very much rather not have it, and he probably has a light sunburn on his shoulders and cheekbones.

Also, there’s a soft, warm weight on his chest that feels so damn good, it makes up for everything else. He glances down, trying to keep his breathing steady so as not to disturb his passenger.

Tim is asleep, cuddled right up to him with his head pillowed on his shoulder. His left arm is thrown across Jason’s chest and his left leg is wrapped around Jason’s, his foot tucked between Jason’s calves.

Jason’s left arm is asleep. He stares down at Tim’s relaxed, sleeping face, noting the dark curl of his eyelashes and the feathery soft feel of his hair where it spills across Jason’s bare shoulder.

He doesn’t give a shit about his damn arm—it can fall off for all he cares. He’s not moving.

Tim makes a soft noise in his sleep and stirs slightly, tucking himself into Jason even more. It’s the cutest damn thing. Unbidden, images fill his mind of waking up to this. He could bring Tim coffee, make him breakfast, wake him up with a blow job to take the edge off that morning wood he feels pressing oh-so-ardently against his thigh—

His reverie cuts off as he abruptly realizes that yes, Tim is rubbing himself against him in his sleep. Fuck, this is probably bad. He can’t consent if he’s asleep. Shit.

Jason tries to gently extract himself, tugging away and attempting to slide Tim off his chest. It fails. Tim just makes a sad-sounding noise and refuses to be slid. If anything, he clings tighter.

Well, there goes the chance of getting out of this without agonizing embarrassment and awkwardness for all. Jason clears his throat. “Uh, Tim?”

Tim goes still. A moment later, he blinks open those pretty blue eyes, focusing on him. “Crap,” he whispers, going so red Jason momentarily worries he’s going to cause himself some kind of injury. “Oh my god.” He jerks backward, taking the shitty emergency blanket with him.

Jason misses his warmth.

“I’m so sorry.” Tim scrambles to a sitting position, looking mortified. “I was asleep—I swear I wasn’t doing that on purpose.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jason sighs, not quite managing to keep the disappointment from his voice. He knows damn well that Tim would never be interested in him, not like that. Honestly, he’s lucky the younger man is willing to work with him and extend a hand in friendship after all the times he’s been burned.

Tim goes still, staring at him with an expression of focus so intense it causes the fine hairs on the back of Jason’s neck to rise. “You don’t sound disgusted,” he says slowly, still pinning him in place with that analytical gaze.

Jason frowns. “Of course not?” His frown deepens. “Were you worried I’m some kind of homophobe? That would be pretty damn hypocritical of me, considering all the dick I’ve sucked.”

Snorting, Tim turns redder yet as he shakes his head. “Ah, that’s not what I was worried about. More like, I know your stance on consent and I was worried you’d think I was trying to take advantage of you or something.” His bright blue eyes narrow. “Also, up until yesterday you hated everything about me, so I was genuinely concerned that even though you’re making amazing progress in learning to tolerate me, what I was doing just now would be more than you could stomach.”

“I don’t just tolerate you,” Jason protests. “I like you.” Immediately, he goes red, wishing he could take those words back. His voice was too warm and far too revealing.

“You do, don’t you?” Tim bites his lip, looking conflicted, then shrugs. “Screw it—I’m not going to overanalyze this. Jason, I like you, too.” His voice is just as warm, and there’s what looks like trepidation and hope in his eyes. “I, uh, have for a while.”

Oh. Oh, fuck. “Really?” Holy shit. That would definitely explain the companionable banter, and the ready trust—if Tim’s into him, and he’s just been waiting for Jason to see _him_ instead of a wall of green…

“Yep.” Tim shrugs diffidently. “For _quite_ a while, actually. Uh, since before.” He winces. “You can ignore it, if you don’t want to—”

Holy _shit,_ since _before?_ Fuck. “Oh, I want.” Jason’s voice is a deep growl that causes Tim’s eyes to widen. He clears his throat. “Uh, sorry.” Shaking his head, he heaves a deep breath, then lays it on the table. “Look, I realize we don’t exactly have the healthiest basis for a functional friendship, let alone more—”

“We’re working on that, though.” Tim still looks so fucking hopeful.

“I’ve already been every kind of asshole to you, Tim. I don’t want to take advantage of some torch you’ve been carrying for a dead boy.” His stomach churns at the thought.

Tim is shaking his head, looking almost frantic. “Oh, no. You don’t need to worry about that. I mean, I definitely don’t have you on a pedestal. I know you’re a total jerk who likes to troll people for fun, you’re more of an antihero than anything else, you have a nasty habit of beating bad guys up so severely that they land in the hospital, you intentionally kneecap criminals even once they’re surrendered, and, well, you’ve done a lot of things in the past that you regret now.”

Jason swallows. Put like that, he really does sound like the ultimate piece of shit. “And you like me, why?”

“You troll your friends and family in hilarious and ultimately harmless ways, as an antihero you’ve been able to accomplish things the heroes never would have managed, every criminal you put in the hospital did worse first to kids and other innocents, the guys you kneecap absolutely deserved it, and as for the rest? The fact that you regret it now is a sign of how far you’ve come from when you were at your worst.” Tim’s smile is blinding.

Jesus Christ. When Jason finally manages to speak again, his voice is rough. “You seem to know me pretty well, Tim. It doesn’t—I don’t feel like I really know you at all yet. I want to, though. You keep surprising me.” That’s the understatement of the day.

Tim shrugs. “I figure, if we’re both interested, maybe we can just spend some time together. Give you a chance to get to know me, and give me a chance to know you for real and not just from afar. We can see where things go from there.”

Well, that sounds like something he can just about manage. “Okay. That’s… Yeah, let’s do that.”

Tim smiles at him, looking so damn sweet and happy that Jason can’t help but lean forward, closing the distance between them and kissing those soft, responsive lips.

Of course, _that’s_ the moment fucking Superboy shows up. “Hey guys,” a voice says from the doorway, startling them both into springing apart. Jason has his kris raised defensively before he registers who it is. Tim is already lowering the throwing stars he pulled out of—somewhere.

“Kon?” Tim’s mouth is hanging open in blatant surprise. “You guys weren’t meant to get back until later. Did something go wrong on the mission? What—?”

“Seriously?” Superboy rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “You up and disappeared the same night Red Hood stole one of Batman’s boats and _also_ disappeared, and you thought no one would notice?”

Jason leans back, his shoulders hunching defensively as he scowls, bracing himself. The last thing he wants is to sit here and listen to the list of accusations and shitty theories the Bats probably came up with about what happened. Most likely, the majority of them involve him going psycho again and doing away with Red Robin.

“Oh,” Tim says, blinking rapidly. “I didn’t realize anyone would notice—no one even knew I was in Gotham except you guys. But how did anyone put it together? And where did the team come into it?”

Superboy shakes his head. “Apparently Oracle _was_ aware of your being in Gotham. She saw you going out on the docks, and she noticed when you didn’t come back. She was worried enough to send Batgirl and Black Bat to check. When they couldn’t find you, they sent up an alert.”

“Oh, damn,” Tim says with a wince. “And I guess someone decided to send you guys an urgent message—”

“Yep. Which made me check _my_ messages. Do you know how it felt to see a text from you asking for backup when I was offworld and too far away to help?” Superboy puts his hands on his lips, glaring. He somehow manages to look imposing despite the fact that he’s still hunched over on his knees to fit in the doorway. “Not good, Rob. Very not good.”

“Ah.” Tim tilts his head. “So you listened for my heartbeat?”

“I listened for your heartbeat,” Superboy confirms. “It was hard because all we knew was you guys must have headed out of Gotham Harbor in the middle of the night, not what direction you went or how fast you were going. Batman managed to track his boat down, but you’d obviously ditched it or been washed away during the storm. Everyone’s been looking for you guys in a grid pattern based on weather and currents.” He brightens. “I was having trouble tracking down your heartbeat, but it suddenly started hammering like crazy a few minutes ago. It made you way easier to find!”

Tim turns bright red and mumbles something, refusing to look at either of them.

Superboy grins, looking back and forth between Tim and Jason and raising a knowing eyebrow. “You could’ve just told us you’ve been teaming up with Red Hood, Tim. You didn’t have to run away to a desert isle together.”

“Shut up,” Tim grumbles, still red.

“Team up?” Jason says, feeling like he’s missing something.

Superboy turns to him, his dark eyebrows drawing together in an expression of slight puzzlement. “Yeah? I mean, the rest of the Bats figured it out pretty easily—you guys were obviously working together on the pirate case, decided to take one of the Batboats to go after a tracker you’d set, and then ended up running into trouble on the way. Everyone’s been really worried about you guys.”

Jason blinks, feeling wrongfooted and warm and somehow very, very cared for. “Oh,” he manages after a minute. “Uh, cool.” Maybe he hasn’t burned all his bridges after all. Considering how different things with Tim turned out to be once he really looked, it’s entirely possible he has been missing some important truths about some of his other fucked relationships.

Well, that’s something to think about later.

Superboy’s looking back and forth between them again, a grin spreading across his face. “Were you two kissing when I came in? You totally were! Oh man, I owe Bart lunch now. That’s going to be so expensive. Dude, really? You could’ve _told_ me you finally landed him—”

“Oh my god,” Tim whispers, burying his face in his hands. “Kon, shut _up.”_

“You’re really okay with him being with me?” Jason asks, eyeing Superboy askance. “I’ve been a total dick to him before—you’re not much of a friend if you don’t have a problem with that.”

Superboy sends him a sharp look, accompanied by a sudden sense of peril that makes Jason’s throat go dry. “Oh, you’re not off the hook for that.” His demeanor relaxes, the intensity dissipating as fast as it came. “But I trust Tim, and he says you’re a good person who’s been dealing with a lot of bad stuff.” He sighs, his hands clenching and unclenching. “It’s not like doing bad things under mind control is a new concept for any of us.”

Jason raises a brow, catching a hint of guilt there. Something to ask about later, maybe. “I’m not going to hurt him.” Again, he leaves unsaid.

Superboy nods slowly. “We’ll hold you to that.” It sounds like a promise. Jason nods.

“I’m still here,” Tim complains, finally lifting his head again. “Also, now that you’ve found us, I’ve got a few theories on the case—”

“Oh, too late.” Superboy grins. “The Bats went a little nuts when they dug into the case you were working. They figured out pretty quickly that the pirates had a bunch of like, mind-controlling tech—”

“Mad Hatter’s missing shipments,” Jason mutters, grimacing. He really should’ve followed up on those sooner.

“Yeah, I guess.” Superboy shrugs. “Anyway, the first working theory was that you’d both been captured and compromised. Batman sort of went crazy—that guy is _scary_ when he’s upset. Nightwing was even more terrifying. Actually, every member of the Bats is a walking nightmare and I’m pretty sure they made a few of the pirates literally crap their pants.”

“So the pirate ring’s already been dealt with?” Tim actually sounds disappointed, the nerd.

“Pretty much. Turns out they were just normal pirates right up until they happened to steal a shipment full of mind-control hats, and then they decided to start kidnapping people along with the goods and expanding their operation. The base is kaput now, the ringleaders are in custody, and the police are busy processing all the stolen goods and trying to get them back to their owners. Uh, and all the missing people were found—they’d all been forced to work using the mind control tech.”

Jason breathes out a huge sigh of relief, echoed by Tim. There was always a chance that all the missing people had been killed, unceremoniously buried at sea just like nearly happened to Tim.

The thought brings a stab of terror—if Jason hadn’t been there, it’s entirely possible that Tim wouldn’t have made it. Immersion suit or not, he was pretty damn helpless to guide himself anywhere once the damn thing inflated. Without Jason, he might not have made it safely to an island. Fuck.

“Anyway, we should probably get you two back and get you checked out,” Superboy says, not sounding too worried about it.

“You already checked both of us with your x-ray vision, didn’t you?” Jason says.

“Oh yeah, as I approached the island.” Superboy gives him another one of those shit-eating grins.

Jason narrows his eyes. “You fucker, you totally waited until we kissed before bursting in here. You did that on purpose!” 

Superboy snickers. “Hey, I’m just looking out for my teammate. I mean, I don’t see any condoms in here—”

“Please don’t,” Tim mutters, his face in his hands again. He sounds resigned.

“Oh, I’m just getting started.”

Damn it. Jason eyes Superboy, wondering how much he’ll have to interact with Tim’s friends if they do end up getting together. Tim sighs softly, then looks up at him with a soft smile and an apologetic shrug.

He’s so fucking cute. Jason’s heart twists with the sweet ache of how much he already cares about him. Yeah, okay. It’s definitely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, waking up wrapped around Tim:** “Oh fuck” *Realizes they’re rubbing against each other and parts of both of them are VERY happy about it* “Oh FUCK”  
>  **Tim, waking up and automatically jumping to his feet:** *Bumps his head on the ceiling beam, collapses onto Jason’s chest* “Ow”  
>  **Jason, tenderly stroking his head:** “Damn, sorry Baby Bird, are you okay?”  
>  **Tim, lifting his head to gaze into Jason’s eyes, whispering:** “Now I am” *Leans in for a kiss, which Jason enthusiastically returns*  
>  **Kon, bursting in and physically separating them:** “My dudes, I am happy for you but no way am I carrying you back to Gotham if you do more than kiss right now. You’re already rank, my supersniffer can’t handle it if you add sex-stank to that—”   
> **Tim, slamming hand over Kon’s mouth:** “Nope” *Climbs onto Kon’s back* “C’mon, Jay” *Grabs a bemused Jason by the hand and pulls him onto Kon’s back alongside him* “Giddyup!”  
>  **Kon, making a face as he rises into the air to fly them home:** “You suck”  
>  **Tim, smirking:** “You know it”  
>  **Jason, so confused:** “Wait what—”


	6. Chapter 6

Tim finds himself looking down at the island as they rise into the air, the lean-to shrinking away in the distance. The SOS message may not have been instrumental in saving them in the end, but it’s fairly impressive how legible it is from up here.

Kon is grinning with half of his attention on flying while holding one of them under each arm. The rest of his attention is clearly focused on Jason’s near-continuous grumbling.

“This is fuckin’ undignified. Seriously, there wasn’t a better way to arrange this? You said the Bats are mobilized. Don’t even try to tell me the Batplane isn’t ten minutes away, because I’ll know you’re lying.”

“Oh, you don’t like my flying? Maybe you’d rather swim back?” Kon makes like he’s going to drop Jason, who swears and clutches at him. His arms and legs tense where they’re overlapping Tim’s, both of them wrapped around Kon in a tangle of limbs.

“Do it and you’ll regret it,” Jason growls.

Kon just glances down and then whistles, his brows flying up. “Wow, Tim was right about your thighs—I thought he was exaggerating because he had a contact high from all the weird chemicals, but I guess he was telling the truth.”

“What the fuck?” Jason looks torn between curiosity and reluctance, like he isn’t sure he wants to know. “What chemicals?”

Kon tries to shrug, which doesn’t work very well since they’re still clutching his sides. “It was a mission at a chemical plant where someone was trying to make a new truth serum. Everything sort of caught fire at one point.”

“Because fire’s awesome,” Tim mutters. He continues quickly, trying to steer the conversation away from any accidental confessions he may or may not have made while really, ridiculously high. “Anyway, we managed to stop the bad guys!”

“Holy shit, that sounds dangerous as fuck. So, what was Timmy saying about my thighs?”

“Just that they’re amazing and he wants to lick them and—”

“I have Kryptonite,” Tim hisses.

Both Kon and Jason recoil, looking at him in horror. “What, _on_ you?” Kon eyes his bandoliers mistrustfully. “Tim!”

“It doesn’t have to be on my person for me to arrange something unpleasant,” he says, deciding now is not the moment to reveal the tiny chip of kryptonite he carries in a shielded case at all times. Just in case. After all, Kon isn’t the only super, and anyone can be mind-controlled. It’s only smart to be prepared.

Kon eyes him for a moment, eyes narrow. “Right,” he says slowly. Then he smirks and turns back to Jason. “Anyway, that was the night he confessed his enormous secret crush on you. We were all pretty freaked out—this wasn’t that long after your heads-in-a-bag super-crazy stage—”

“Oh my god, _Kon!”_ Tim might as well not even try.

“But then he got all heartfelt and told us these stories about the things you used to do on patrol, looking out for kids and stray dogs and geez, could you _be_ any more of a decent guy? And he had all these charts showing how the frequency of your psychotic outbursts was decreasing over time, with predictions about when the Pit crazy would eventually wear off—”

“Oh my god,” Tim says faintly, hiding his face. Jason just started to warm up to him. Now is not the time to reveal the extent of his idiosyncrasies. Idiosyncrasies sound so much better than stalking. Now Jason is probably going to be creeped out. Damn it.

“Wait, _charts?”_ Jason yelps, looking—Tim sighs—extremely weirded out. 

Kon just bulldozes obliviously onward. “The charts were pretty convincing, and lots of the things you do seem to be generally in accordance with good-guy stuff. Plus, it’s been over six months since you last attacked Tim. So we all agreed to look past the like, Lazarus Pit stuff if he ever managed to bag you.”

“Uh, cool,” Jason says faintly, clearly still stuck on the charts.

“You’re the worst,” Tim mutters, scowling at Kon’s stupid beefy shoulder.

“You love me. I have had physical proof of this on numerous occasions—”

Tim yelps, scrambling to slap a hand over Kon’s big mouth. He starts to slide free in his haste and Jason clutches at him with a growled curse. “Seriously?” he hisses. “Jason and I are _barely_ hovering around the edges of _maybe_ dating, and you’re already bringing up the team orgies?”

“The _what_ with the _who?”_ Jason sounds more interested than anything else, thank goodness. “You’ve had sex? Wait, the Titans have team orgies now? What the fuck—how the hell am I still finding out more awesome things I missed out on while I was dead?”

Kon grins. “You can always catch up—”

“Please stop inviting Jason to orgies before I even manage to seal the deal, oh my god—”

“Wow. So the orgy thing is, uh, real?” Jason swallows, looking _really_ interested.

Tim peeks around Kon’s broad chest and gives him a smile. “Uh, kind of? I mean, a bunch of teenagers in a tower together are going to experiment, it’s only natural. And since there’s been some dating within the team, followed by mostly amicable breakups, well…” He shrugs. “Sometimes after a tough mission we just unwind together. That’s all.” It’s hard to explain the comfortable, casual thing that’s grown between them over the years, centered mostly around himself, Kon, Cassie, and Bart, with occasional appearances by one or two of the others.

“That sounds…” Jason swallows again, then leans forward to grin at him around Kon. “Fuck, Baby Bird, nevermind what I said earlier about your friends. Your friends are great.”

Kon snickers. “So, you’re saying that’s a yes to the occasional team orgy?”

“As long as Tim okays it during the kink talk—and fuck me, we are _so_ jumping ahead of ourselves here—then yeah, that’s a hell yes to the orgies.”

“It’s fine by me,” Tim says, his heart racing and joy bubbling over at the thought that he won’t have to give up other parts of his life that make him happy if he and Jason end up pursuing a relationship together.

“Heck yeah!” Kon raises a hand for a high five and Jason returns it, almost making them all fall out of the sky. Then they both burst into laughter. Tim’s a little afraid of how well they’re going to get along.

“Dorks,” he mutters, trying not to laugh. The scenery whizzes by below them, transitioning from ocean to land. “Wait, are you taking us all the way to Gotham?”

“Yep. The Batplane is tied up helping lift some of the last victims off the pirate base. Now that the Bats know you guys are safe, they decided to focus on tying up loose ends over there before heading back.”

“Fine, but if Jason gets more sunburned because of this—”

“I’m fine, Tim. You’re the one with delicate alabaster skin—”

“It’s only exposed on my face, though, whereas you’re practically naked.”

Kon snickers. “And damn, am I curious how _that_ happened. Like, I didn’t want to mention this earlier, but why is Tim fully clothed while you’re barely wearing enough to cover your junk? I feel like this is a sex thing, but if you guys are barely even on the edge of maybe dating then I gotta say, that might be moving things a little fast.”

“Shut up, I had to shed layers when we got shipwrecked and I went into the water. Tim here had a goddamn inflatable suit.”

“Of course he did,” Kon says fondly. “Tim’s always prepared.”

“Anyway, I don’t have a problem with flying. Just looking forward to a damn shower.” Jason sighs. “And more food. I don’t think one meal yesterday was enough to cut it, even if we did gorge ourselves on seafood.”

“Agreed,” Tim says, his stomach twisting eagerly at the mention of food. “Hey Kon, can we fly through a drive through?”

Kon grins, swooping low to hover over a Superburger, because of course Superboy favors Superburgers. “Kon Air, making an unscheduled stop—”

“Goddamn it, Kon, stop calling it that! I keep getting flashbacks to that awful movie!” Tim closes his eyes, already knowing how this conversation is going to go.

“Shut up, you _love_ that movie!” Kon’s a dirty rotten liar who lies.

“Contact-high Tim is not to be trusted and his opinions do _not_ count!” If he says it enough, that will make it true.

“Wait, what the fuck movie are you guys talkin’ about?” Jason sounds so confused. Well, he wanted a chance to get to know Tim better. This little trip is really throwing him into the deep end on that front.

Kon gets a crazed grin, and Tim whimpers. “Oh god, no—you don’t know what you’ve done.”

“Movie night at Tim’s, Jason’s bringing the popcorn!” Kon says, barely able to get the words out, he’s laughing so hard.

“Goddamnit.” There’s absolutely no way it isn’t going to be happening now. The team is absolutely going to show up at some point in the near future and expect to expose Jason to that ridiculous movie.

Faintly, Tim can hear other voices over the comm in Kon’s ear. “Wait, Kon?” He goes very still as something occurs to him. “Have you—Kon, have we been on open comms with the team this whole time?” His voice goes slightly high by the end of that sentence. Kon is one thing, but he wasn’t ready for his almost, maybe relationship to be outed quite so publicly just yet.

He’d rather have waited at least until they managed to have an actual date or two.

Gradually, Tim becomes aware of a guilty silence. He turns to stare at Kon. Oh no. It’s worse than he thought. “Kon? Dear god—please tell me you don’t have all the _Bats_ on an open comm right now, too.” By the end, he’s almost begging.

On Kon’s other side, Jason sucks in a breath. “Oh shit. Oh fuck, oh shit, goddamnit—”

“Uh, I can’t tell you that, Tim, because I was raised to tell the truth—” Kon’s Midwestern twang grows more noticeable, the way it only does when he’s trying to emphasize the wholesome farm boy routine. It works better on people who didn’t know him when he was in leather and a mohawk.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you did that,” Tim whispers, trying not to hyperventilate as he frantically reviews everything they’ve talked about. After a moment, he decides there wasn’t anything too horrific. A little more explicit than he’d rather share, but hey, they’re all consenting adults.

He’s still mildly terrified.

“Batman is gonna rip my dick off,” Jason says, looking like he’s about to puke. “Him and Nightwing. They’re gonna come after me for daring to defile Timmy—”

“Hey, relax!” Kon says, clearly trying to help. “They never came after me or the other Titans, and we’ve definitely done a lot more to, uh, defile Tim than you have.”

“That’s not helping,” Tim grits out, eyeing Jason with growing concern as the man continues to go paler.

“Yeah,” Jason says, huffing a deeply unamused laugh. “Seriously, there’s no way in hell B ever knew about those team orgies or he would’ve shown up at the Tower with the damn slideshow the next day.”

“Slideshow?” Kon mouths, looking confused.

Tim and Jason both shudder, memories momentarily overwhelming them. “It’s a compilation of nightmarishly graphic pictures of STDs and horrifically traumatizing freak sex-related injuries, all accompanied by a voiceover of Batman explaining everything in horrible, explicit detail. There are a few video sequences where he demonstrates prophylactic use on a banana. Somehow, he’s unable to control the strength of his grip and the banana keeps getting squashed in graphic, painful-looking ways. I couldn’t even think about sex for like three months after he made me watch it.”

Jason snorts. “Wow, that sounds even worse than mine. He musta updated it.” He shakes his head. “The banana part is new.”

Kon snickers, then goes rigid. “Oh, uh, hello Batman, sir!”

Tim and Jason both tense, leaning in closer to try to listen in. It doesn’t work. It’s too windy for them to hear more than small bursts of sound.

After a moment, Kon relaxes. “Wow. Uh, okay, sir. I promise I’ll take good care of them!”

“What did he say?” Jason asks, looking wary.

“He says he’s relieved you’re both okay, and to tell you that he’s just glad you’re not fighting anymore?” Kon pauses, clearly listening to someone. After a moment, his expression twists to one of horror.

“What is it?” Tim leans in, trying harder to hear what’s being said.

“Batman says he’s updating the slideshow to include mishaps related to group sex and metahuman powers.”

Tim shudders. “Okay, that’s… Well, it could be worse.”

“I guess,” Kon says, not looking very convinced. He glances at the Superburger below. “Still want to stop for food?”

“Are you kidding? The alternative is head straight back to the Bat Cave, which is filled with family and friends who absolutely know way more about our sex lives now than any of us is comfortable with.” Tim huffs.

“So… We’re stopping for food?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Just land, man. We gotta fortify ourselves before we face all that.”

“Fair,” Kon says, finally diving down to land in the parking lot. “So, giant pile of burgers?”

“Giant pile of burgers,” Tim confirms, heading for the door. 

A few hours later, Kon deposits them neatly on the roof of Tim’s home in Crime Alley. He gives Tim a huge wink and a big thumbs up before flying away, definitely heading out to meet up with the rest of the team to spill all the details. That’s fine. It’ll save Tim the trouble of having to answer all their questions later.

The Nest never looked quite so inviting before. He and Jason managed to give their report over Kon’s comm and beg off actually going to the Cave until tomorrow morning. Tim is pretty sure the only reason Bruce didn’t demand they come in immediately to be examined and cleared in medical is because he knows damn well Kon’s x-ray vision would have picked up on any real injuries. Also, he’s probably planning to use the intervening time to really beef up that slideshow. Tim shudders.

He glances longingly at the rooftop access, then back at Jason who is hesitating, looking uncertain of his welcome. Tim bites his lip. The pace of everything seems to have increased since the moment Kon showed up, throwing them out of the slow, gentle progression they’d been developing on the island. He’s worried all the salacious talk on the way back might have scared him off, or worse, made him think all Tim wants is something physical.

It took years of working together and building their friendships before he and the team slipped into their occasional casual physical relationship. What he wants with Jason is so much more than that, and he’s afraid if he isn’t careful, it will end up being so much less.

If he invites Jason in now, will that throw off the trajectory of whatever they’re building together?

Eh, he’ll take his chances. All he knows right now is he doesn’t want to just leave things like this. “Hey Jay—wanna hang out?”

Jason flashes him a gorgeous, relieved grin and moves toward him. “Sure, Tim. You probably have better showers than me, anyway.”

“My amenities are better than those offered by a bunch of condemned, rat-infested safe houses? I feel honored.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’ll have you know at least two of those safe houses are roach-infested, too. I’m living the goddamn dream.”

Tim snickers and deactivates the security long enough for both of them to slip inside. “Well, feel free to stop by here whenever.”

Jason eyes him for a long moment, then smiles. “You know, I think I just might do that.”

It’s hardly anything, but it still makes Tim’s heart flutter. “Sounds good,” he says, just as Jason leans in. He’s not sure who moves—it was probably both of them, honestly—but a moment later, he’s in Jason’s arms being held like he’s something fragile and precious, their lips pressed together in a heated kiss.

After a few moments, it gentles, Jason pulling back with an achingly soft expression. “Think I’ll see about that shower now. After that…” He trails off, looking uncertain again.

“Maybe we can still play it by ear and take things slow?” Tim suggests. “Uh, if that’s what you want.” His heart pounds as he wonders if they’re on the same page.

“That sounds just about perfect, Baby Bird.” Jason gives him one last lingering look, then clears his throat, reaching down to surreptitiously adjust himself. “But seriously, shower. I got sand in places I didn’t know I had.”

Laughing, Tim shows him the shower before heading down the hall to the one in his en suite. Delicious thoughts of taking a shower together someday tease at the edges of his mind, but that’s for later.

For now, they’re taking it slow, and that feels just about right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim and Jason, back on the island months later:** “Damn this is great, it’s awesome we finally got some time off” *Spot a bungalow next to their sad, pathetic, but gallantly still standing lean-to*  
>  **Tim:** “…Huh.” *Checks inside bungalow, sees it has running water and is fully stocked with everything couple might conceivably need for romantic getaway*  
>  **Jason:** “Tim, did you buy the goddamn island and build us a love nest?” *Eyes lavish bed lasciviously* “Because I could totally be into that”  
>  **Tim, raising a meaningful eyebrow:** “Not me”   
> **Jason, looking horrified:** “Goddamnit, B!” *Pauses, then grins wickedly* “Wanna go see how fully stocked it is?” *Starts digging through bedside drawers*  
>  **Tim, trying not to laugh:** “I am not using a Bat-condom if you find one in there”  
>  **Jason, waggling his eyebrows:** “Okay, I’ll use the Bat-condom, I’m not picky”   
> **Tim:** “Fine, but we’re sweeping for bugs first”  
>  **Jason, snickering:** “Baby Bird, that’s a given. Although one of these days B’s gonna get an eyeful and it’ll be his own damn fault”  
> Far, far away:  
>  **Bruce twitches as he stares at the screen, his eyes widening in horror:** “Somehow that possibility never occurred to me before” *Experiences full body shudder, immediately begins deactivating numerous bugs in all of his children’s bedrooms one by one* “Why the hell didn’t I consider—GAH!” *Flails blindly at the keyboard until image of Dick enjoying some quality time with various former Titans disappears from the screen* “I knew it was a mistake to let them join those teams”   
> **Nearby, Alfred pours out a glass for Bruce’s peace of mind:** “Indeed, Sir” *Raises an eyebrow in clear ‘I told you so’ look*  
> *  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and thanks to the phenomenal mods over at Jaytim Week for all their hard work putting this event together! Also, thanks to the [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn) for being a supportive place while I was writing this, and being generally awesome. You guys rock! :D
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!


End file.
